United We Stand
by The Blue Engine
Summary: After 100 years working on Sodor, Thomas is preparing to be the star attraction of the railway's centenary. But when Barry brings back a mysterious warning from the mainland, everything changes. As Thomas fights to protect his darkest secret, a chain reaction of events pushes the engines towards disaster, allowing an ambitious politician to launch a plan to bring down the railway.
1. Prologue: The Promised Arrival

**United We Stand**

 _Last year, the North Western Railway turned 100 years old. It was a time of great celebration for the island: Thomas, the first engine purchased for the railway, turned 100 as well, while Skarloey and Rheneas celebrated their 150_ _th_ _birthdays. The year also marked 70 years since the engines had first been immortalised in the stories by the Reverend Wilbert Awdry._

 _With extensions being built, old lines being revitalised, and new engines joining the team, it was meant to be the biggest year in Sodor's history. And, by the end, it was clear the centenary would definitely be remembered, though not quite in the way they had intended._

 _The following story is about the greatest threat the railway has ever faced. It tells of how fear is something that can affect even the bravest of souls. It tells of how friendship and teamwork can falter in the darkest of times. It tells of how, in order to defeat the cruellest of enemies,  
you must stand united._

 **Prologue: The Promised Arrival**

 _Vicarstown – North Western Railway Headquarters_

 _1915 – Exact date unknown_

"I hate this blasted war."

Topham Hatt stopped what he was saying and looked up. It wasn't often that he was interrupted during his weekly run-through, and it was even rarer for his boss to change topic when discussing the railway. He saw that Gordon Norramby was not sitting behind his desk as he had at the start of the meeting; inside the interim manager of the North Western Railway stood at his window, lit cigar perched between his lips, gazing towards the Mainland.

"I'm sorry sir, did you say something?" Topham asked tentatively, gazing back at the documents he had hoped to get through.

"The war, Hatt, it's been a bloody shambles." Gordon did not turn from the window as he spoke, directing his anger outwards to the world. Topham checked the door was closed; he knew it would not do his boss any good if people heard him criticising the war effort.

"It was meant to be done by now – home by Christmas, they said, remember that? Bah! They sent our men off to fight in a war we didn't need to be involved with, and only afterwards they realised we were screwed if we lost. Now we've got the government breathing down our necks to finish building their railway, except they've taken all the able-bodied men that could have built it and left us with the scraps."

Gordon angrily turned around and began pacing his office, drawing on his cigar and leaving a trail of ash in his wake. Topham didn't say anything, partly because he knew it was best to let his boss calm down, and partly as he was not sure how to feel himself.

Neither man would be here if it wasn't for the war. As part of the government's coastal defence, they had agreed to fund the creation of the North Western Railway: a joining together of the three standard gauge railways currently operating on Sodor. For the government, it meant a strategic area of defence to protect the nation's coastline, but for the men in charge on Sodor, it had been a welcome step forward for the island. For too long, the Sodor had been divided, multiple railway companies operating independently of each other. It had been seen as a golden opportunity to bring the island together.

Upon government approval, Gordon had been appointed to oversee the project, while Topham came over from the Tidmouth, Knapford and Elsbridge line to serve as Chief Engineer. For a while, things ran smoothly. Though it took a long time, the rolling bridge to finally connect them to the Mainland was up and running, and the station they currently sat in, their new headquarters, was nearly operational. Unfortunately, they were not running behind schedule. The lack of working age men meant they couldn't lay tracks as quickly as they liked, while none of the new engines Topham had ordered had arrived yet. The current fleet they had to work with had not been designed for such strenuous tasks, and it was clear they could not handle the pressure.

At the end of the day, Topham was worried. If they could not get it done on time, would the government keep funding them? If they couldn't finish the project, what would it mean for Sodor? And there was the constant, endless threat of war, a war that was meant to be over; how were they meant to build a railway with their livelihoods at stake?

"Maybe I should head to London, make the case directly for better men, more money, more engines." Gordon was taking to himself more so than Topham; he did not speak to his engineer, simply throwing the words out into the office. "Perhaps it would be better if my cousin did it, he'd have more clout. It's the least he owes me, after all," he added darkly. Topham wondered when this would come up. Whenever Gordon got in a mood, his rants always led back to one thing.

A cousin to the current Earl of Sodor, Gordon had long lived the high life, living in the resort town his family had built. However, being just a cousin, he had also lived on the outskirts. When war had been declared, Gordon had actually planned on signing up, looking forward to making a name for himself.

Then, the day before registering, he and the Earl had gone hunting. It had been dark, they'd been drinking, and Gordon stumbled into the path of a deer…. The doctors had just managed to save his leg, but weeks in hospital and a nasty limp had left him unable to serve. When the railway expansion was approved, he was put in charge as a way of apology, while his siblings and most of his cousins left to fight. Thankfully, Gordon had fallen naturally into the role, but the old resentment still crept out from time to time.

"Speaking of engines, maybe we should get back to our current problems," Topham suggested sensitively. "I have been researching and we may have enough money to buy another tender engine." Gordon stopped pacing and turned back around as though he had just remembered his engineer was there.

"Of course, my good man, of course! My goodness, at least we have you Topham – don't know what I'd do without you. You're not planning on running off to France, are you?"

"Er, never worry sir, my doctor has, um, forbidden me to serve," Topham replied sheepishly. He looked down at his expanded gut threatening to burst out from his shirt: he had steadily packed on the weight, a hereditary trait that all men in his family seemed to suffer from. He had planned on serving, but his doctor, a kindly chap, had forbidden it, claiming Topham would be more likely to die from a heart attack than a bullet.

"Well, here we are then; the only two capable men left on this godforsaken island." Gordon moved back to his desk and sat down with a grunt, still sucking on the cigar. "We may not be saving the Empire from the Germans, but we're doing something worthwhile here?" It was meant to be a statement, but Topham could tell from his bosses tone and the look on his face that Gordon was seeking reassurance.

"Of course we are, sir. When the soldiers come home triumphant, they will find the island has been brought together. We may be trying to protect our country, but a rail network from east to west is what Sodor needs to become one… well, except for up north."

"Huh, forget about them: a bunch of uncivilised swine, if you ask me," Gordon grunted, and then he burst into laughter at his own joke. Topham chuckled with him, feeling like a weigh had been lifted – if only it was that easy to calm his own nerves.

"Now, where were we…?"

There was a knock at the door. The two men fell silent once more as an attendant, a pimple faced youth too young to serve, peered into the room.

"Sorry sir, I didn't mean to disturb, sir, but the new engine has arrived," the attendant squeaked. For the second time that hour, Topham had not expected this interruption. _Already?_ He thought, and scanned his notes: surely he would have remembered something as important as this.

"Oh, excellent!" Gordon clapped his hands and beamed. "Finally, we can start making some real progress. This would be the Furness Railway one, wouldn't it? Didn't it have a name?" He asked, clicking his fingers wildly at his engineer.

"Edward, sir," Topham mumbled automatically, still trying to confirm this arrival with his notes.

"Edward, that's it!" Gordon boomed, as though he had remembered it himself. "A tender engine to call our own, that's what this railway needs. We'll be flying through the construction at this rate!" He turned back towards the attendant, and Topham realised with a sinking heart that the boy looked confused. Gordon noticed at the same time, and his face collapsed upon itself.

"Why the face, boy? Come on, spit it out!"

"It's just… well… the engine…"

"OUT WITH IT, DAMNIT!"

"It's not a tender engine, sir. It's a tank engine, sir. His crew says they are from the London, Brighton and –"

"BRIGHTON?!" Gordon jumped to his feet, the cigar flying from his hands. "Did this boy just say what I think he just said?" He roared at Topham.

"Yes sir, unfortunately," the engineer replied, hurriedly searching his notes. "We did order a tank engine to help, but it wasn't meant to arrive today, and I certainly didn't order one from down south."

"Well then, let's see what's going on!" And without another word, Gordon shoved the youth aside and marched out of his office as fast as his limp would carry him. Still trying to find his notes, Topham heaved himself up and raced after, furiously searching through his jumbled mix of papers.

The tank engine looked tiny sitting alone in the huge station. The finishing touches were still being put on the Vicarstown headquarters, but only now did Topham appreciate how big the station was. A blue speck in comparison to the high brick walls and glass ceilings around him, the engine seemed intimidated by the size, mesmerised eyes darting between the multiple platforms and up to the cathedral sized ceiling.

"That's an E2, sir," Topham explained as he caught up with his boss. "I saw a photo in a magazine last month. I would have remembered ordering one, there's barely a dozen of them in England."

"Then something is clearly amiss," Gordon growled. He marched up the engine and banged his fist on its bunker.

"Morning sir!" A lean, cheery man jumped out of the cab, taking off a coal dusted cap and grinning broadly at the two men before him. "You must be my new boss! The name's – "

"I don't care who you are, you and this engine are not meant to be here!" Gordon roared; inside the cavernous, empty station, his voice echoed so it sounded like there were a hundred men yelling. The fireman stuck his head out, while the driver looked perplexed, taking a cautious step backwards, but Topham was impressed to see he was not intimidated.

"This is the North Western Railway, isn't it?"

"Yes – I mean, not yet, technically… but we didn't order an E3, did we Topham?"

"E2, but no, I certainly did not place an order for this engine." Topham looked through his notes again, hoping to find the piece of paper to prove his claim, but it was nowhere to be seen. "Well, I don't believe I did…"

"Topham?"

"I only seem to have the orders for the other engines. I must have misplaced the one ordering us a pilot engine." Topham remained calm and looked his boss in the eye. He could see Gordon was annoyed, but he knew the manager would not take his rage out on him. Indeed, after several tense moments of silent eye contact, Gordon turned back towards the crew.

"It seems there has been some sort of mistake. Until we have this sorted, you will have to find accommodation back on the Mainland."

"What?" The driver's shock quickly turned to anger. "We have been traveling for three days to get here, and now you're telling us to bugger off? This isn't our problem, mate."

"Excuse me, consider who you are talking to! I am the manager here, I am not to be scolded by the likes of _you_!"

"And what is that supposed to mean, you rich –"

"Pardon me, gentlemen, but before we get into fisticuffs, may I have a word?" Topham grabbed Gordon's sleeve and pulled him away. Before his boss could object, Topham leaned in close. "We have a railway to build, one that isn't going to be move any faster if we don't have the right engines. The E2 is a good shunting engine from what I've read; until we sort this mess out, why don't we keep it on? If it's the wrong engine, we would have at least gotten some use out of it first." Gordon pondered the idea for a moment; Topham could see the cogs ticking away in his head, his annoyance at this issue being overpowered by his desire to finish the railway.

"I must apologise for my attitude," Gordon boomed, turning back to the tank engine's crew. "This is a shock, you must understand. If you come with me, we can arrange you accommodation and prepare plans for your engine." The driver and fireman exchanged smiles and followed Gordon back towards the office. Topham breathed a sigh of relief. He may be the chief engineer, but half the time he felt more like a relationship manager, fixing problems Gordon's short temper had caused.

 _I hope I don't spend the rest of my life running around after other people's mistakes_. Topham left them to their arrangements and turned back towards the engine. It was the first new engine he had seen in the flesh for months, and he walked alongside it, savouring every nut and bolt: the curves of its boiler, the lines of its tanks, the slight unevenness of its buffers. _This is just the engine we need._

"Um, excuse me sir, but can I ask you something?" Taken aback, Topham turned and faced the engine, staring him in the eye. The voice, high but masculine, sounded uncertain, and the engine's young face was twisted in unease.

"Of course you can – I am the chief engineer, it is important that you feel comfortable talking to me."

"Well, I was just wondering… you aren't going to send me home, are you?" The engine looked positively frightened at the thought of leaving, and for the first time, Topham wondered if there was more to this mix-up than meets the eye. However, that was a worry for another time.

"Don't worry, um… sorry, but do you have a name?"

"Thomas, sir."

"Well then, don't you worry, Thomas: we won't send you home if we don't have to." The tank engine breathed a sigh of relief, and it looked like a weight had been taken off his buffers.

"Thank you sir, I promise you won't regret it sir, I'll do whatever you tell me, sir!"

"Enough with the sir's – it's just Mr Hatt," Topham replied, laughing heartily. "I am sure I won't regret this – I can tell you're going to be a really useful part of this team." The blue engine beamed back at him, a cheeky smile that outshone his unease, and Topham grinned widely back. Feeling the most reassured he had for weeks, he turned and followed Gordon back to the office, certain that things were going to be alright.

* * *

 **I have wanted to write a version of this story for years. Now, with some more time on my hand, I am happy to finally begin my biggest Thomas story ever. I hope you will all stick around for what is going to be an epic ride. I will be using what information I can find from the two encyclopedias to be as accurate as possible, but will fill in the blanks when necessary. Ultimately though, enjoy!**


	2. The Quiet Homecoming

**The Quiet Homecoming**

 _March 2015_

Despite the years he had been away, Barry had never forgotten the hustle and bustle of Barrow Central Station. When he had first arrived on Sodor, the first thing he had noticed had been how busy the station was: steam engine and diesel working side-by-side, crossing the giant drawbridge to the oasis that lay across the sea. Having spent years sitting in a siding gathering rust, the threat of scrap ever present, the lively atmosphere had been enough to convince Barry he had found a place to be welcomed, and since then he had always savoured the organised chaos that the North Western Railway ran on.

Yet this morning, the station was empty.

"Are we in the right place?" A sense of dread fell over Barry as he stopped at the platform. It was not as though he had been expecting a big welcome for his return home, but Barry was unnerved by the sheer quiet that hung over the station: had something happened while he was away? Surely they would have let him know?

"It's before lunch time, things are never that busy at this time," Barry's driver replied. "If it makes you feel better, I'll make sure things are safe for us to cross."

 _Don't say that,_ Barry thought with a shudder. _There could have been a crash, is that what you're saying? It would be just my luck, arriving home to an accident._

Barry caught himself and felt ashamed at his own fear. His mind was always jumping on the worst case scenario, a habit he had long tried to break with minimal success. Years spent expecting to be scrapped changed an engine, and Barry now found it easier to find the negatives in any situation.

 _You are back home, the Fat Controller never lets anything bad happen. There is nothing to fear, there is nothing to get upset about._ Barry puffed deeply in and out to calm his nerves, and cast his eyes around the yard: asides from the main station, there were a number of sidings and a shunting yard beyond. Barry could see that there were several lines of trucks waiting, and he could faintly see the North Western Railway logo on their side.

 _Someone must have been across earlier – I probably just missed them, that's all._ Feeling more relaxed, Barry cast his mind back to his tour while he waited for his driver to return. It was hard to believe that after five years travelling across Great Britain he was nearly home. He had been a long way away, but travelling through heritage railways, Barry had never felt more accepted. While most of the engines on Sodor had been purchased before dieselisation, the engines on those railways had all been like him: survivors, rescued and rebuilt, maintained through perseverance and hard work. It had been comforting to meet so many kindred spirits, engines that knew what he had gone through and had their own tales of endurance to share. Every day, Barry had felt inspired, seeing that none of those engines had given up or let their past drag them down. Every day he had been on one of the heritage lines, nothing had gotten in Barry's way.

Well… except for that last day. Barry shuddered, feeling cold despite his roaring fire. It had been several days since the final stop on his tour, a small heritage railway a two day journey from Sodor, yet in every quiet moment he had had since then, Barry could only think of one thing: shunting coaches away, a mysterious engine had been waiting in the back of the shed, firing off a warning that made no sense, yet it still made Barry's fire cold to think about…

 _Warn him – tell him I'm waiting for him, tell him I know what he did!_

Suddenly, something slammed into Barry's tender. His mind still back in the shed, Barry screamed and sounded his whistle in horror. He jerked forwards, and for a moment was convinced someone had come for him, that he was going to be taken away mere kilometres from getting home. However, breathing feverishly, Barry opened his eyes and realised he had only moved a few centimetres.

"W-w-w-whose there?" He wailed, unable to control his pitch. An embarrassed giggle sounded behind him, followed by a quiet toot.

"Just me… I'm sorry…," a timid, female voice replied. There was a pause, and suddenly a stream of words were fired at him: "I didn't see you there, I was racing here, a bit above the speed limit – sssh, don't tell anyone! Anyway, I'm running late, cause it's my first day as a replacement engine on Sodor, and I really want to make a good impression as it is such a great railway, so I sped here, and then I came into the station and suddenly there's an engine in front of me and I just –"

"It's alright, no harm done!" Barry interrupted, laughing gently as his breathing returned to normal. "I'm still in one piece!"

"Yes, that's good – still, I'm sorry! I'm always causing little accidents like this!"

"Trust me, its fine! My name's Barry, by the way."

"I'm Delphine."

"It's nice to meet you, Delphine. I look forward to working with you! What brings you to Sodor anyway?" However, before Delphine could reply, a door slammed on the platform, and a few moments later Barry heard his driver's voice.

"You must be the new diesel. The stationmaster said you'd be coming through."

 _Diesel?_ Barry suddenly seized up and uneasily looked behind him. He couldn't see the engine directly behind him but had assumed it was a steam engine. Delphine seemed nice, and Barry knew he shouldn't be jumping to conclusions, but he had not prepared himself to run into any diesels – especially not one that would follow him back to Sodor.

 _Calm down, Barry, she isn't here for you – you aren't going back to the scrapyard…_

"We can show you the way," Barry's driver said, pulling the tender engine out of his thoughts. "Stay behind us for now, but once we get across Sodor you can follow us alongside. Just heard the track's clear for the next hour, so it should be smooth sailing until we Crovan's Gate."

That last comment was enough to distract Barry completely from his worries. "Really, why are there no trains coming through?"

"Beats me – some sort of event, apparently." His driver said nothing else, and a few moments later Barry felt his brakes slip off. With a whistle, he set off, beginning the last stretch of his journey home. Yet as he left Barrow behind, Barry could not focus on his return: all he could think about was what sort of event was so important it would shut down the railway?

* * *

"We're going to be late, we're going to be late!"

"Stop saying that, Percy; we'll get there in time!"

Even as he said it, Thomas doubted they would make it. As they raced past the Peel Godred branch, pistons pumping as hard as they possibly could, Thomas cursed himself for holding the pair up. He didn't want to admit it to his friend, but the tank engine knew it was his fault they were running late to the biggest event of the year.

This year it was the centenary of the North Western Railway. Not only would it mark 100 years of operation, but also the culmination of years of railway extensions and re-openings that had been building up to this point. Today, the Fat Controller was going to announce the railway's official centenary celebrations, and had shut down the railway so that all the engines could hear about the plans as well.

The event was starting at noon exactly at Crovan's Gate. There were just five minutes to go: Thomas and Percy should have left at eleven if they wanted to make it on time. Instead, they had left at half past.

"This was mad, we're going to miss the speeches!"

"No we won't!"

"You don't know that – they could have started early!" Percy huffed. "This is your fault, I knew we should have left earlier." Thomas was too focussed to defend himself, and knew anyway that his friend was right. It had been Thomas who had suggested they wait until the other engines had gone, so they did not get caught up in a traffic jam heading into Crovan's Gate. Percy and their drivers had agreed, and when they had finally left Knapford it was to find empty tracks with all signals showing green. They hadn't factored in Gordon's Hill though, which was a tough climb for small engines like them even without trains. It had taken up a great deal of time, and though they sailed down the other side, the two engines had quickly realised that they had not thought their plan through.

Trees, houses, stations, they all passed in a blur as the two tank engines sped towards the station. The valley that marked the final stretch before Crovan's Gate was coming into view, and both engines felt a resurgence of energy, but the clock was ticking.

 _We can't be late, we can't be late!_ Thomas didn't want to imagine what would happen if they arrived mid-speech. He was intrinsically linked to the centenary – not only was he the first engine to work on the railway, this year would mark his 100th birthday. Thomas knew would be heavily involved in what was coming, but he knew arriving late would not reflect kindly on him. After the chaos around the Ulfstead extension, he couldn't let anything else get in his way.

Finally, they could see Crovan's Gate. Even from a far Thomas could see that the yard was full: a rainbow of engines was packed in there, and he wouldn't be surprised if there was no room left.

"We're nearly there, we're nearly there!" Thomas puffed, forcing himself onwards.

"Right at the back though!" Percy huffed. Thomas knew he would never hear the end of this, but had to accept his fault. The closer they got, the more Thomas could see of a big stage erected in front of the workshop, with a small group of people assembled on top. The Fat Controller stood out with his distinctive top hat, and Thomas gasped as he saw his owner was walking across the stage.

 _Not yet not yet not yet not yet!_ Thomas slammed his brakes on, the screeching of his wheels echoing in the quiet yard. The engines at the back all stared at him, but Thomas didn't care: as the Fat Controller took his place at the podium, the tank engine finally came to a halt behind Arthur.

"We made it!" He whispered to Percy, who came to a slower stop behind Bear and next to Gordon.

"Well done, you two – right on time as always," the big engine muttered drolly. Thomas just looked at Percy and rolled his eyes, and the two tank engines laughed, the tension disappearing under the guise of their success.

A static 'hmmm' boomed out of the microphone, and all eyes focussed on the Fat Controller. He smiled down at his engines as he pulled out his notes, and a pregnant pause awaited the start of his speech.

"Every time I visit friends and colleagues on the Mainland, I always find it surprising how small events at their local railways are. I am then promptly told that Sodor is likely the only place in the United Kingdom, and possibly the world, where a railway party is considered a VIP event."

Laughter rippled through the crowd. Thomas wasn't sure how many people had turned up to hear Sir Topham Hatt's speech, but from the booming laughter that echoed around him, it looked like it was nearly a thousand.

"Was that joke meant to be funny? I didn't find it funny," Percy whispered beside him.

"Sssh!" The hiss spread around them, and Percy's face flushed with embarrassment. Thomas smiled kindly at his friend, feeling awkward for him, and gave a tiny nod to let him know he hadn't found the joke funny either.

"In saying that, Sodor is not like any other place. We are an island that was brought together by rail, and now, one hundred years later, those lines are still what keeps this great community running!"

The crowd clapped, but their applause was drowned out by the whistles and horns of the gathered engines. Thomas saw people on the platforms and on the sides jump with fright, but the noise only made him smile, and he joined in, using the full extent of his whistle.

He was sure their whistles would be heard for miles. Sir Topham Hatt had chosen mid-morning to launch the event, as it was the quiet time between the early morning rush and the lunch time bustle. While a few engines had offered to keep the many lines going, Thomas could see most engines had accepted the invitation: there were dozens of engines the timing meant nearly every other standard gauge engine could show up. They had all crammed into Crovan's Gate, leaving just one line free for any trains that had to pass, and were packed buffer to buffer.

Despite his guests fear, The Fat Controller laughed, only signalling for quiet after several minutes. "I am not surprised my engines are proud. While the management skills of my predecessor – and, more importantly, my father – Sir Stephen guaranteed the railway maintained a steady profit into the 21st century, it is the engines and their crews who put in the hard work, and they should be rewarded." He then began to clap, and soon the whole crowd was applauding. Thomas and Percy beamed, and the tank engine could see Gordon looking smug the next line over.

"And look how far they have brought us. The line first started running services in 1915, the tracks freshly laid, under the guidance of my great-grandfather, the original Topham Hatt, and interim manager Mr Gordon Norramby. Amongst the few engines we had, Thomas and Edward were young, spritely engines who helped build and run this line. As time went on, more engines arrived: Gordon and Henry, followed by James, Percy, Toby. And as the island's population swelled, as our tourist numbers tripled every year thanks to the books and television shows made about us, the railway has been at the forefront of these changes, growing one step ahead of the island, always ensuring that we were ready to serve, ready to take the good people of Sodor where they needed to go – within our borders and beyond.

"And here we are: 100 years later, and the North Western Railway is proud to be the largest private commercial railway in the country. We may be a heritage railway to many, but I maintain we are truly a 21st century operation. With recent extensions completed on the Ffarquhar and Arlesburgh branch lines, new services operating on the Kirk Ronan and Norramby lines, and the reconstruction of the old Vicarstown Station, our centenary is off to a booming start. But this is just the beginning! This is a year of remembrance and celebration, and we are here today to begin the biggest party Sodor has ever seen! I hope you will enjoy all the events we have to offer, and make this year a year to remember!"

The humans and engines cheered in unison at this, a noise so thunderous Thomas could feel his frame shake. He was not surprised though: this was clearly going to be a huge year, and Thomas could not wait to see what happened next.

"I will now welcome the MP for Sodor West, the Honourable Margaret MacMillan." The Fat Controller stepped away from the podium as the noise died down, replaced by a polite smattering that seemed ironic by comparison. Thomas watched as a tall woman in a purple suit he had seen on occasion shook the Fat Controller's hand, excitement replaced with curiosity.

"Is that it?" He hissed to Percy. "What about all the plans?" Gordon shushed them loudly and Percy didn't respond, looking fearfully at the big engine. Thomas frowned as he looked back at the stage, thinking of his sore wheels: he hadn't come all this way just to listen to a politician.

Suddenly, the tank engine noticed a thin man running towards his cab. As the politician began her speech, Thomas watched as the stationmaster whispered something to his driver, who turned towards Thomas with a frown.

"Thomas, there's been an accident."

"Where?" Thomas gasped.

"The Mountain Railway: a boulder fell onto the line and one of them reversed into it. They need someone to go collect him from the terminus so the workers can look him over. Unfortunately, Wilson is boxed in at the moment, and since we arrived late –"

"- we're the closest to Rocky, I know," Thomas sighed. His first thought was annoyance, but when he looked at the stage, Thomas realised the rest of the speeches would be from people he didn't know – this would be his only chance to escape. "Let's go get him then!"

* * *

"Is it always this quiet?"

"Vicarstown? Always."

Delphine looked up at the arched ceiling in awe. She hadn't seen a station this big for years, and suddenly felt like she was back in London at the height of her working life. Part of her had been worried about coming to Sodor, thinking it would all be old-fashioned, but being greeted with this big, grand building made her feel right at home.

There were no other trains about, but unlike Barrow the station was a hive of activity. As the two engines passed through side-by-side, Delphine could see there were a number of builders, painters and decorators working around the station: dust and paint fumes hung in the air, and the sound of construction surrounded them. Some of the workers watched them as they passed, and Delphine playfully tooted as she slipped through the station.

"It's a lovely station, I can't wait to see what it's like when it's all done up."

"Yeah, I'm not sure what's going on here," Barry murmured. "This used to be the headquarters for the railway, but they moved it to Tidmouth at the other end of the railway – that's where the big station, the sheds and the harbour are. It's just sat here, so I'm not sure why they are doing it up."

"I guess we will have to find out!" Delphine twittered, and she grinned broadly at her companion. Barry smiled back, but she was disappointed to see he wasn't as excited as she was. The two carried on down the track in silence, an awkward tension hanging between them.

 _Was it something I said?_ The diesel asked herself, her eyes constantly flickering away from the beautiful scenery to stare at the quiet, reserved engine beside her. Delphine had been keen to make a good first impression on the engines of Sodor, and Barry's silence was not what she had hoped for.

 _I can't blow this, I need this, I can't screw up on another railway. I need to a friend on my side…_

The two remained silent as they roared into a tunnel, the sound of their wheels beating the track reverberating deeply around them. Delphine sounded her horn in excitement and glanced at Barry but the steam engine was looking straight ahead as if avoiding her.

 _Say something – if you did something wrong, he'll tell all the other engines…_

"So, you said you have been on a heri-OHHH NO, WHAT'S HAPPENING!" Delphine felt she had barely left the tunnel when she suddenly swerved, jetting off down a completely different track. She heard Barry whistle in warning, but her driver kept going, probably as confused as she was about the change in track.

"STOP, STOP!" She wailed, and finally her driver slammed on the brakes. Delphine looked around and saw she was surrounded by nothing: fields and forests stretched out for miles around her, with the odd building scattered here and there in the distance. It was unsettling, the sudden silence crushing her, and Delphine realised she was scared.

 _I'm on the railway for five minutes and already I've stuffed up – if the Fat Controller hears about this, there is no way he is going to want to keep me…_

Weighed down by her embarrassment, Delphine reversed back onto the main line. Barry had carried on down to a nearby signalbox, and the blue diesel waited until the points were set in her favour. When they heard the satisfactory creak and click, she quickly set off, joining Barry besides the brick building.

"Sorry about that – I missed the message from up the line, didn't realise anyone was coming this way! Since the line's clear up ahead, do you want some coffee?" Both crews appreciated the signalman's gesture, and they jumped out of their respective cabs and climbed up to have their break. Barry and Delphine were left alone, the awkward tension between them more apparent than ever.

 _Say something, do anything, don't just sit here like an idiot!_

"So, where does that line go was that?"

"Ummm… Ballahoo, I think… maybe Norramby? The line wasn't used much before I left, but I guess now it must be…" Barry drifted off, looking sadly into the distance. Delphine was confused by his response, and it suddenly dawned on her that she might not be a problem.

"You said earlier you had been on a rail tour, how long was that for?"

"Five years."

"Oh my goodness, five years? That seems like a long time."

"The Fat Controller started to buy more restored steam engines, and I think a few came from railways that couldn't afford the upkeep anymore. He thought they could do with an extra hand, and I offered to go and maybe see some of my old friends. I didn't realise how long five years was going to be… apparently too long, for some people…"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't want to sound selfish, I certainly wasn't expecting anything, but… well, turning up to the station and no one's there, all the engines are at some big event, even the signalman doesn't know I'm coming…"

"You're worried they've forgotten you?" Delphine asked, and Barry sighed and nodded.

"I'm sure I am just overreacting, but it just isn't the welcome home I expected. Sorry if I seemed distant before."

"Its fine, its fine, you don't have to apologise to me." "If I'm honest, I thought you were avoiding me because I'm a diesel." There was a pause, and Delphine felt her engine sink as Barry turned awkward. "Oh… right…"

"Sorry! It was just a… surprise, is all. Well, I probably shouldn't have been surprised being on the Other Railway and all."

"Other Railway?"

"Sodor lingo – it's what we call everything over the bridge," Barry replied, grimacing. "I should explain – when diesels started taking over, I was sent to a scrap yard in Wales and sat there for years not knowing if I was going to be rescued or not. I was one of 298 engines sent there, all of us thinking we were for the axe. The majority of us got rescued in the end, but back then, when you went for scrap, you simply thought your days were numbered. I don't hate diesels, and I try not to judge, but, well…"

"No, I understand completely. Not just about diesels, but about… about the scrap yard." Delphine paused and smiled quietly. "There are only a few of my brothers and sisters left now – I know it's nothing like what you went through, but… well…"

"The scrap yard is still the scrap yard, no matter what type of engine you are." Silence followed Barry's words. Neither engine knew what to say next; instead, they simply smiled, a silent understanding forming between them. It wasn't the type of topic Delphine had hoped to bond over, but Barry seemed lighter now that it was spoken, and the diesel could not deny her new found connection.

"Shall we carry on then?" The engines jumped as their crews re-appeared, carrying plastic cups of tea.

"Definitely," Barry replied, and a few moments later the two engines were off, jabbering away like old friends.

* * *

On the other side of the island, Thomas was making the most of his journey. It was rare that Thomas had a reason to leave his branch line, and when he did get a chance to travel down the main line, there were always a few big engines roaring past and disturbing his journey. Today though, he had the entire line to himself: no big engines, no noisy trucks, just Rocky coupled quietly behind him and the birds in the sky. It was one of the most peaceful trips Thomas had had in a long time, and he couldn't stop smiling as he looked around the once familiar sights. "It must have been a long time since you had free reign on this line!" His driver called out.

"Almost 100 years now!" Thomas replied, and sounded his whistle cheekily. Even though he had known for a while this was coming, it still felt strange to say it. _100 years, you are nearly 100 years old…_ His memories had faded over the years, but Thomas could faintly recall the days when the only tracks around had been beneath his wheels, flatbeds of new rail coupled behind him and swarms of workers crowded around him, slowly but surely putting together the railway.

Now though, soaring past the once open fields of green, Thomas could see a lot had changed. The towns of Kellaby, Cabalnoo and Belladrine had a few decades ago stopped far from the tracks, but new housing developments meant that buildings were edging closer and closer to the main line. The houses were interrupted by black ribbons of road that snaked between them; some so close they were nearly parallel to the railway.

 _The world really is changing._ As he took in the different world, Thomas thought back to the Fat Controller's speech. He did not normally stop and question how much the island had changed since he had arrived, more cars, new engines and big extensions just another fact of life, but with a year of celebration and remembrance now upon them, Thomas' couldn't ignore it all anymore.

 _It's not 1915 anymore, is it…_

All his worries vanished as he roared onto the branch line, and Thomas' attention turned to the electric wires hanging above him. In the shadow of the mountain, with farmland still a mainstay here, Thomas felt more settled, and he was able to enjoy the long stretch in peace.

The quiet was shattered as he reached his destination. Thomas slowed to a halt as he turned into a siding at Kirk Machan Station. There were two platforms on either side of the lines, one completely empty while the one opposite was crowded with passengers, a white engine was waiting.

"I thought they weren't going to send anyone till after that party was over," the engine said with a London accent. "They had to move all the tourists over here so they can lift Culdee up safely but they aren't happy at being delayed."

"They never are," Thomas chuckled as he was switched onto a siding. "My name's Thomas."

"I know – blue engine, number one, you're famous in these parts," the engine chuckled. "My name's Eleanor, but everyone just calls me Elle."

"Nice to meet you!" The electric engine seemed nice, but Thomas' attention turned to the purple engine parked next to him. As Rocky prepared himself and Thomas' crew spoke to the mountain ones, the tank engine stared at the strange engine.

 _What an odd shape,_ the tank engine thought: the purple engine looked like he had fallen apart at some point and been poorly reassembled, with exposed pipes, sloping boiler, an awkward, boxy shape. As Rocky turned and manoeuvred the engine onto his flatbed, Thomas kept his eye on the engine: he had long wanted to meet one of the mysterious mountain engines, but now that he had, he was not sure what to make of it.

However, the engine smiled in greeting as workers milled around him, but Thomas saw his manager was speaking and decided not to interrupt. Instead, he examined the third rail running up the mountain track, and his eyes marvelled as he gazed up at the mountain, the railway snaking steeply upwards.

"You must be very brave to go up there every day…" Thomas paused and turned to the other railway, where the manager had fallen silent. "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt…"

"No worries Thomas!" The manager chuckled. "You are quite right, my engines are very brave."

"You get used to it very quickly," the purple engine replied, and they all laughed. The workers came and whispered to the manager, and he nodded.

"Looks like they are ready for you. We'll see you back in a few days Culdee!"

"Goodbye sir; look after Catherine for me!" Rocky's pistons started churning, his chain clanked and rattled, and the mountain engine begin to rise up. The passengers fell silent as they watched as the operation took place, and Thomas could hear them oohing and aahing at the sight of an airborne engine. The process lasted a few minutes, but then Thomas heard the satisfying clunk as the engine was successfully lowered onto the train, and all those watching applauded.

"You must be Culdee then," Thomas said finally.

"You must be Thomas," the purple engine replied, and the two chuckled. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you." The mountain engine sounded bright and chirpy despite his injuries, and Thomas couldn't help but beam. Once his precious cargo was secured, the guard blew his whistle and Thomas set off, whistling farewell to Elle.

"I've never been on this line before," the tank engine said as they left. "It feels exciting to discover something new after all this time."

"I thought you had been on the island a long time?"

"Oh yes, I have, but I was the pilot at Vicarstown when they started building this," Thomas replied.

"Ah yes, that makes sense. Sometimes I still expect to see the old electric engines at the station when I come down the mountain. Funny how things can change like that."

"Yeah…" Thomas was reminded of his earlier worries and drifted off, not sure how to respond. Thankfully, Culdee was able to carry the conversation.

"So remind me how long you have been on the island?"

"100 years almost exactly," Thomas replied proudly. "It will be my centenary in a few weeks. I think the Fat Controller is planning a special party around it."

"Oh, what fun! That reminds me of my 100th – all of us engines were built at the same time, so we all got to celebrate at once."

"Oh… oh really? All of you?"

"Yes, it was great fun! They opened a new hotel to mark the occasion, and I think they completed the new walkway that year as well. Believe me, Thomas, there will never be an occasion more special than your centenary."

"Of course." Culdee didn't notice the tone in Thomas' voice, and the mountain engine continued to chatter away as they headed back towards Crovan's Gate. Thomas murmured every so often to show he was listening, but his mind was elsewhere, lost in thoughts of centenaries, celebrations and changing worlds: how special was turning 100 if everyone else already had?

* * *

The speeches had finished by the time Barry and Delphine arrived. The two engines rolled into the yard as the last stream of engines departed in the opposite direction towards Tidmouth. The stage was being disassembled, and only small groups of people remained.

"Awww, I was hoping to meet all the engines," Delphine sighed.

"You will soon." Barry was glad they hadn't run into the engines: he wasn't sure he could handle meeting them all at once. The familiar site of the Works calmed his nerves, and his concerns quickly faded as he noticed a small crowd of people gathered by the workshop entrance.

"Delphine, look over, that's the Fat Controller!" Do you want to meet him?"

"The Fat Controller? Yes, of course!" Delphine shuddered with excitement, and Barry laughed as he led the way across the yard. He and Delphine were bonding nicely and seeing everything through her eyes put a smile on his face.

However, his joy quickly faded. The group turned as the two engines approached them, and it was only then that Barry realised the man in the top hat was not who he thought it was. He went to apologise, but the suited man beamed at him.

"Why, my goodness, is that you Barry?"

"Um… yes… sir?"

"I'm so happy to see you! I had no idea you were coming today – and you, you must be my new Deltic engine. I am Sir Topham Hatt." _No you're not,_ Barry thought instantly, and he felt as though all his worst fears had come true.

"Everyone calls me Delphine. It's a pleasure to meet you, sir, I am so happy to be working – whoops!" Delphine blushed as she suddenly lurched forwards, making a woman in a purple suit jump. "Sorry, ma'am."

"No worries, I have become rather used to engines coming for me after all these years," the woman laughed.

"Barry, Delphine, this is Margaret MacMillan, the MP for Sodor West."

"I've probably met you at some point or another – I'm always around, aren't I, Richard?"

"We never seem to be able to get rid of you," the stout man chuckled, and they both roared with laughter. Delphine looked at Barry and rolled her eyes, but the tender engine wasn't paying attention. He was staring beadily at this Richard, wondering how this imposter was and what he had done with his saviour. _You aren't the man who saved me from death, how dare you call yourself the Fat Controller?_

"Sir, I don't mean to be rude, but who are you?" He couldn't stop himself, the words simply slipped out. The Fat Controller fell silent, and Delphine and the politician looked at him curiously. A tense few seconds passed, but then the controller began laughing.

"Oh, of course! You don't know – my father, he retired a year after you started your trip. His gout was getting the better of him, so he stood down which left me to fill his spot."

"R…r…retired?" Barry mumbled.

"Yes, but don't worry, you will see him again soon at one of the celebrations – now, whose that coming through?" Everyone looked up as a whistle echoed across the yard; Barry was struggling to process this latest bombshell, but he felt a wave of relief as he saw who was pulling in.

"Barry, is that you?"

"Thomas!" Both engines whistled in greeting, and Barry could see his old friend's face lit up at the sight of him. _Finally, something that's still the same…_

"I had no idea you were back today! It's been so long, how have you been – and who's this?" Thomas screeched to a halt, the purple engine on the flatbed behind him quivering forwards.

"Delphine, this is Thomas – and I believe… Alaric?"

"Close enough – Culdee," the purple engine chortled. Everyone laughed, but Barry was still struggling to process all this information.

"I was just about to show Margaret our main project for the centenary before you all arrived, but since you're all here, why don't you come say hello?" The Fat Controller led Margaret inside, and Barry, at the will of his crew, reversed inside, followed by Delphine and Thomas with the breakdown train. Thankfully, the Works still looked the same: greasy tables, paint cans and spare parts scattered about, the smell of burnt coal and diesel fumes hanging in the air.

"Feeling home, Barry?" Thomas called out.

"You know it!" The tender engine had spent weeks here after he had been rescued being brought up back up to service, and the building had always held a special place in his boiler. _At least this is the same, at least this is the same._

"Cyclone, are you awake?" The Fat Controller had stopped in front of a queer shape beneath a tarpaulin. Barry and Thomas exchanged looks as they too stopped, and after a few moments a murmur emerged from beneath the sheet. "Ah, excellent! Well Margaret, this is the project I have been telling you about. I hope this will be enough to quench your appetite."

"My appetite will be thoroughly quenched once I know how much taxpayer money you will be using to pay for this whole charade," the politician replied sternly. Barry had no idea what they were talking about, but the Fat Controller simply laughed and pulled off the tarpaulin.

It was an engine. Barry didn't know why that surprised him – it was Sodor after all, but then he saw Thomas' face and knew he was right to be startled. The engine blinked and stared woozily at them, and Barry noticed that the engine was missing various pieces: no tender, no side-rods, no whistle, no windows, exposed boiler. Just as it dawned on him what he was looking at, Delphine piped up.

"Are you building a new engine?"

"Yes Delphine, right on the money!" The Fat Controller boomed. "Cyclone, meet Thomas, Culdee, Rocky, Barry and Delphine – engines, meet Cyclone, soon to be the latest edition to our railway."

"Hello," the incomplete engine murmured, his eyes darting woozily around. The Fat Controller noticed this and frowned.

"Sorry Cyclone, I must have woken you. Maybe it would be best if you all got back to work…"

"Sir, I believe I was going to be checked over before I started work – that's what I was told, anyway," Delphine explained.

"Yes, yes, of course, you stay here and keep Cyclone company. Thomas, you shunt Rocky so that Culdee can be unloaded, and then you and Barry get back to work. Good day!"

 _Just like that, eh?_ Barry left the sheds without another word, simply smiling at Delphine as he passed. It was a lot to process at once, and the tender engine wasn't sure what to focus on. _No welcome back, no explanation, nothing – "Hello Barry, back to work you go." You'd think I've been gone five days and everything's still the same, but it's not… this isn't the same railway I left…_

* * *

 _What a weird day_.

Thomas was tired but it was barely after noon. As he headed down the Main Line with Barry leading the way, Thomas wanted nothing more than to crawl back into his shed and sleep: not only did his wheels and side rods ache, but he was dazed and confused by the morning's events. The Fat Controller's speech, Culdee, Cyclone – everything was a blur, and Thomas wasn't sure what to think. He was still excited for the centenary, but a shadow had been cast over everything, and the tank engine needed some time to himself.

"Looks like your stop," Barry called as they finally reached Knapford. Thomas sailed back onto his branch line and both engines came to a stop either side of the platform.

"So, tell me all about your trip – you were gone for so long, you must have tons of stories."

"I'm not in the mood right now, sorry Thomas." The tank engine was crestfallen, having hoped to have something to take his mind off things. However, from the look on his friends face, he knew not to push it.

"All good – we can talk once you've settled back in. I'm sure nothing really important happened anyway," he teased. Thomas had hoped this would lighten the mood, but Barry's eyes suddenly widened, and he looked fearfully at Thomas. "Is something wrong?"

"No… well, yes… maybe… this was all I could think about for days, but after everything today I completely forgot… I'm so sorry…"

"Barry, what – "

"Thomas… there's something I have to tell you."

"Really?" From the tone of Barry's voice, Thomas wasn't sure he wanted to hear it, but another side of him was deeply intrigued.

"The last heritage railway I was on, it wasn't far from here. It was a lovely line, all coastal trips and routes through forests. It was a pleasant way to end the tour, but on my last day, there was an engine there. He had been waiting for me, apparently – knew me from … Island, it turned out, knew I worked on Sodor. Wanted me to deliver a message… to you…"

"A message? What are you on about?"

"He said he knows what you did, that he was there. He says he knows who you really are, why you came here, and that you can't keep the secret forever. He didn't tell me his name, and I couldn't really see him, he was hiding in the shadows. I feel like he could have been joking, but I thought I should tell you anyway. Does it mean anything to you?"

"I have no idea who that engine is thinking of, but it's certainly not me!" Thomas laughed, and Barry began to chuckle as well.

"Well, I'm glad to hear it. I was worried there for a while. I should probably head off – got to see what else is waiting for me."

"See you around!" Thomas replied quickly, whistling in farewell, and he took off as fast as possible. The humour disappeared from his face the second he was out of sight, and all thoughts of the day's events faded from his mind: all Thomas could think of was the warning, cold dread rising inside of him.

 _100 years… it's been one hundred years… how can this come up now?_

Thomas had never told anyone why he had come to Sodor. The first Fat Controller, he had suspected something, but in the chaos of war and building a railway no one had ever questioned him or his crew. After so long, Thomas had forgotten himself – it was in the past, there was no point dwelling on things that had happened far away from here decades before his current owner had even been born.

But now… if after all this time, there was another engine out there, someone that knew his secret…

 _This is no coincidence. Whoever that engine is, they won't hold back – not this year._ As the realisation dawned on him, Thomas puffed quietly down his branch line, wondering just how long he had before the other engines found out… before they all turned on him…

* * *

 **A bit of a delay getting this up, but I hope it was worth the wait. Had to introduce a lot of elements in this chapter so it may seem a bit busy and confusing, but now you know how Thomas and Barry feel!**


	3. Feeling Blue

**Feeling Blue**

There were already passengers waiting when Edward arrived. As he came to a stop, the doors of his carriages banging open, the old engine saw that a handful of people were waiting for Henry and his midday service. However, as his passengers filed past and clambered up the footbridge, one group in particular caught his eye. There were five girls, teenagers, he assumed, milling about on the edge of the platform, just centimetres away from falling to the Main Line.

 _Is it a school day?_ Edward thought as he stared at the group. _I think I saw people in uniform this morning, but maybe there are on a trip? Is it even the school term? Are_ they _even school students?_ He had once been so good at this: over the years, Edward had developed the ability to stare at a group of passengers and tell who they were and where they were going on any given day. Harassed mothers compared to confident businessmen, timid elderly versus rebellious youth, Edward could identify them all and know exactly why they were catching his train.

Now, the older he got, the more time seemed to pass him by. Looking at the young girls, they were nothing like what Edward had known a few decades ago. When he had been young, women would have been covered nearly head to toe in fabric – these girls seemed to be wearing as little as possible. Edward could see they had mobile phones clutched in their hands, but everyone seemed to have those these days. They had erected a large tower in the middle of the yard that lay between the station and the bridge, and his driver at the time explained it was to help with 'reception', but to Edward it was just a large white stick that loomed over him as he shunted.

"Is that engine staring at us?" The judgemental cry sounded across the empty rails. As multiple eyes flickered towards him, Edward embarrassedly looked away, but not before the speaker, a petite blonde girl, spoke up again. "I swear that engine was staring at us."

"Oh my god, its totes creepy how they do that, just, like, watching you."

"Isn't that, like, the really old one – Ted, Ed, something, I don't know…"

"Um, do I look like I give a damn? I'm not five; I don't care what the engines are called, as long as they don't BLOODY STARE AT ME!"

A whistle sounded above the shrill shout. _Thank goodness_ , Edward thought, feeling safe to look up as Henry rolled smoothly into the station, blocking the girls from his view. That was the other thing Edward had noticed: everyone was much more confrontational these days, unashamed to speak their minds. There was none of the old admiration for engines, not when there were more impressive, modern pieces of technology. He wasn't sure if it was his age or the world changing around him, but the old engine didn't like it one bit.

"Hello Edward, don't see you doing this run much these days. I thought they kept you tied up arranging the trucks." Henry sounded puffed and agitated, as though the sudden stop was interrupting his day. "Cole busy?"

"He is, and hello to you too," Edward replied, rolling his eyes at the green engine's jab. "How did you find the centenary event yesterday?"

"Oh, a bit tiresome, wasn't it? I hope we won't have to sit through more of those. Though of course I wasn't there at the start, was I, old boy? Must make you feel your age, one hundred years hanging around here!" The shrill ring of the guard's whistle cut off any further conversation. "I guess that's me – see you around!"

Henry roared away under the bridge, leaving Edward alone with his words. He knew the green engine wouldn't have meant it, but there was a cruel sting to his jokes. Edward hadn't given it much thought before, but the main passenger trains had been taken over solely by Cole or sometimes an engine from the Main Line. He was stuck tending to shunting for the most part, preparing trains for the other engines and taking only the occasional passenger train as far as Wellsworth. He couldn't even remember the last time he had done the evening run from Tidmouth.

 _One hundred years… that really is a long time, isn't it?_ Edward had been wiser than his years when he first arrived on Sodor, but that was so long ago that many of his memories of building the line had long faded. But no matter how old he got, Edward had never imagined a time when his age would stop him work working.

"Ah, Edward, you're still here!" Suddenly, the stationmaster was at his buffers, a broad smile on his face. Edward smiled back and went to say Hello, but froze at the last second, uncertain what the grinning man's name was. "I only got the call a short time ago, but apparently the new diesel is going to be arriving here soon. In all the chaos of the party yesterday they forgot to inform us earlier."

"What new diesel?" _We don't need another engine, do we? Unless…_

"Her name is… Delphine," the stationmaster answered, consulting his notebook. "Just here to help out, I'm not sure if working on your line is permanent or anything but I guess you'll find out whenever I do!" He laughed and began to walk away, just as James' whistle sounded from the other side of the bridge. "Show her around, make her feel at home at any rate – I'm sure you've done this plenty of times!"

 _Haven't I just._ Edward wasn't sure how to feel. Only a few minutes ago, he had been happy and relaxed, pleased to be out and enjoying his branch line. Now, as he stared across the empty yard, the cell phone tower an ugly blemish on any otherwise unchanged landscape, Edward realised just how old he had become, and wondered how many runs were left in him before his time was up.

* * *

"Looks like it's time for me to go." Though she had been preparing to leave all day, Delphine still felt a pang of sadness as she eyed her crew making their way towards her. She looked at Culdee, still resting on his flatbed, and sighed. "It's been lovely to meet you, I truly hope I can see you again someday."

"I hope so too," Culdee replied, smiling kindly. Delphine smiled back, holding back the doubts she knew they both shared: with him on his mountain railway with the electric line between them, the chances of meeting again were slim. _Just my luck: I make two friends on my first day, one who's disappeared and one whom I'll never see again._

Without anyone by her side, Delphine rolled out of Crovan's Gate a few minutes later one giant bundle of nerves. Everywhere she'd go today and everyone she'd meet would be brand new to her: two tender engines roared past, one red and one orange, and she didn't know who either of them were. She was excited, she was ready for this, but the diesel just had no idea where to start.

To say Delphine needed a fresh start was an understatement. Her journey was strangely tragic when she thought about it. She had started life as a replacement for steam engines, one of the first diesel classes to be sold as a proper alternative. Yet her professional life had been short-lived, as she and her brothers and sisters found themselves on the receiving end of the same axe that had seen them be created in the first place. They enjoyed barely twenty years of service before they started to get phased out, and as quickly as their work had begun, Delphine and her siblings had found themselves fearing the scrap heap.

Being preserved had been a relief, but it was not an easy road. Ever since she had been withdrawn from main service, Delphine had been bounced around between various preservation groups. Mostly she did work for private contractors, none of which lasted very long. She had spent the last few years on a heritage line doing passenger trips on weekends and occasionally special charters, but while pleasant, it had lacked the excitement of working every day, nor the joy of meeting new people and having new experiences.

Coming to Sodor was a relief. Delphine could remember how distraught she'd felt when her owner told her they didn't have the traffic to justify keeping her, fearful as she always was that this may be her end. When he revealed she was heading for Sodor, Delphine couldn't think of a word to describe how she had felt. She knew about Sodor – everyone did, it was the dream to go there, and even being here now Delphine didn't think it was real.

 _But dreams can end, can't they?_ Delphine watched as a train of coal trucks hurtled past, a large maroon tank engine heaving them at the front. Everything ran so efficiently here, it was so organised. It was like going back in time to when rail was at its prime; Delphine couldn't remember the last time she had had to follow such a strict schedule. Slip up and there would be no place for her, not when there were countless other engines that would jump at the chance to join this exclusive club. _What if I stuff up straight away? What if I have an accident, or go careering down the wrong track again, end up lost in a siding somewhere where no one will ever find me…_

In her state, Delphine didn't realise a diesel had pulled up beside her, and jumped as a deep booming voice emerged seemingly out of nowhere. "You might want to move out of the way there, love, your rather blocking the entrance."

"Oh, sorry, my bad!" The apology stumbled out of Delphine's mouth, and she quickly rolled further into the yard. The diesel followed her out, eyeing her curiously.

"It's Delphine, yeah?"

"No – wait, yes, I don't know why I said that… umm, and you are…?"

The kindly diesel laughed. "I'm Wilson. I work for the works, if you pardon the pun; if you break down or fall off the tracks, me and Rocky here will sort you out."

"I might be seeing a lot of you then," Delphine said, laughing nervously. Wilson raised an eyebrow, and before she could stop herself, Delphine let the floodgates open. "Well, I'm really clumsy, and I am always causing accidents, that's why I was one of the first of my class to be retired from main service cause I was just always in trouble. And now I'm here and I don't want to be sent home but I am so nervous I'll stuff up and when I get nervous that's when I tend to stuff up…"

Delphine trailed off as a smile spread across Wilson's face. She felt hurt for a moment, but then she saw the funny side and she too began to chuckle. "I sound ridiculous, don't I?"

"No, no, first day nerves are understandable! But you must know the Fat Controller is a kind man; he doesn't get rid of engines for one simple mistake. You have nothing to fear, my dear, except perhaps fear itself. From all my years cleaning up accidents, one thing I've learnt is that if you expect things to go wrong, they generally will. Just relax, learn our ways, see where that takes you, and you should be fine."

A voice sounded from his cab, and Wilson gave a friendly toot as he took off. "Must go, upturned trucks won't right themselves."

"Do you tend to accidents often? I heard Sodor engines are always crashing."

"Not always, darling, but those stories are just the ones we like to tell!" With a booming laugh, Wilson and Rocky roared out of the yard. Delphine watched them leave with a smile on her face, and once the track was clear, she followed after, ready to take on the island.

* * *

As the day slipped into night, Edward's mood didn't improve: instead, his confusion turned into a quiet bitterness. His driver mistook his mood for tiredness and held him back from the final passenger train, leaving him to shunt trucks while Cole travelled back to Wellsworth.

"Let's get these last few trucks in order and then I think it's the sheds with you."

 _To rot?_ Edward was tempted to say it, but knew blaming his driver would do no good. He only thought he was being kind; any other day, Edward might have appreciated it, but now it simply felt patronising, fussing over the foolish old engine. Still, he remained silent as he sorted trucks into place and prepared fruit trucks to be unloaded when the ship came in later that night.

 _How soon before I have to stay in that shed permanently?_ As he banged two trucks together, Edward thought of Duke and how he had been left in a shed to be claimed by nature. _Is that the fate that awaits me, once I become too old and useless? It nearly happened once, there's nothing to stop it happening again._

It had been decades since those torturous years he'd been left like scrap metal in the back of Tidmouth Sheds. Edward tried not to think about it, not when it had been so long, but occasionally, in quieter moments, his mind went back to those years. After all the hours he had put in helping make the railway operational, it had felt like the ultimate betrayal for them to turn around and lock him away, replacing him with newer, flashier engines. In his mind, Edward couldn't even place how it had happened: one day, he had been building railways, the next; he was shivering in the back of the shed.

Nearly one hundred years on, Edward couldn't remember how long he had spent in there – weeks, months, years, it had been long enough. It was the cold he remembered the most. He had felt his wheels rusting, he had seen cobwebs form over his buffers, but Edward remembered the cold more than anything. His fire never getting lit, the only warmth coming from the sun or the steam of the other engines, left to sit in his berth at the end of the row and freeze.

Finally he was let out again, out of pity, Edward remembered, rather than a feeling he would be of much use. It was only once Henry kicked up a fuss about paint that Edward was given regular work, and it had been the most rewarding period of his life.

Afterwards, they had offered him the chance to run his own branch line. It was supposedly to thank him for helping with the Henry-Gordon-tunnel incident, but Edward had soon learnt the real reason. The other tender engines they'd got to help out had proved troublesome, abusive and rude to the other engines. They'd been banished in disgrace, and it had been so long that Edward couldn't even remember their names – one had been red, similar to James, the others blue but with a cruelty that made Gordon look tame by comparison. Without them, a major port line was left unattended, the infrastructure too weak to carry Henry and Gordon thanks to the rush to complete the railway on time. Despite the sourness of the offer, Edward had accepted, proud to have the option to stretch his wheels and prove he wasn't just some silly old engine.

 _If it wasn't for Henry's hissy fit and some bad construction, would I still be in that shed, or would I have been scrapped before James had even arrived?_

Edward loved his life; the past decades had been smooth sailing with only the odd wave disturbing his flow. His age had never gotten in the way once the Fat Controller had seen what he could do, and once the railway started to grow and grow, his expertise had been invaluable, something no human would ever be able to offer. But how long would he remain of value? In a few weeks it would be one hundred years since he had helped finish this railway, one hundred years since he had first been put in a shed and made to wait for a rainy day. If he had been considered a spare part back then, what was he now that the railway had more engines than it knew what to do with?

A set of lights appeared down the line, and Edward smiled, relieved that soon Cole would be beside him and he'd have someone to talk to, to distract him from the questions rattling around his funnel. But it was a horn that cut through the night instead of a whistle, and Edward was confused once more. _Who could that be?_

It was only once the horn's owner was a few metres away and under the dock lights that Edward remembered the new engine. The maroon paintwork confirmed it, and Edward had to rearrange his features into something welcoming as the diesel came to a stop.

"Um, hello there." The soft, feminine voice seemed out of place amongst the sweaty workers and towering cranes, and there was nervousness in her tone. Any other day, Edward would have been more than willing to show her around, but after the day he had had, a new engine was the last thing he needed.

 _You can't take things out on her, she's new, it's not her fault,._ Keeping the pretence up, the old engine flashed a smile. "Hello there, my name is Edward."

"Oh, hello! I've heard so much about you – well, a bit, not that much, you know, only been here, what, a day! Oh, my name, yes – I'm Delphine! I am so excited to get straight into work!"

"Nice to meet you. I'm afraid you will have to wait until morning to really get started, it's a bit too dark to show you around."

"Yes, the stationmaster explained that. Sorry I'm late, there was some sort of accident, nothing big, only a few trucks had derailed and –"

"It's fine. Why don't you let me finish up here and then I'll show you to the shed?" Delphine gave a tiny nod and awkwardly reversed out of Edward's way. The blue engine waited till she was out of sight before sighing and returning to his trucks. It was tiring at times, always having to smile, be the mediator, never being allowed to show his true feelings. Maybe if Edward hadn't been so obliging all those years ago, they never would have put him in the shed in the first place…

* * *

" _Maroon_ , eh? My driver always told me never to trust a _marooooon_ engine."

"Leave off," Cole grumbled, shooting the twins a withering look.

"I'm just saying's all, that's what driver told me."

"Didn't your driver ever tell you to be nice to new guests?"

An exaggerated pause, and then: "One of them probably did at some point, but I guess I've just forgotten that one."

Cole rolled his eyes before smiling kindly at Delphine. "Ignore them, they are always like this." Delphine knew the type and simply giggled: there was always one joker on a railway, and being teased simply made her feel welcome. It was better than being ignored.

"You don't have to put up with this every night though, right?"

"Goodness no! They only sleep here if they have to take trucks up first thing, which thankfully isn't very often." Reassured, Delphine found it easier to take the jibes from the troublesome twins at the end of the shed, laughing at Cole's jokes while her mind drifted off.

It had been dark when she finally set off down the branch line, having been held up by the very accident Wilson had left to tend to. After meeting the stationmaster and seeing the small yard, the cell phone tower a bizarre surprise, Delphine rolled down the sunset-lit line, admiring the way the trees and the ocean looked in the last light of day. It was a beautiful stretch of track, blending farmland, suburbs and the ocean all in one view, and all her fears had subsided.

That was until she reached the harbour. It wasn't as big as the ports she knew from the Mainland, but it had a rustic charm that was made Delphine feel nice and cosy. But the cosiness disappeared after she met Edward. Culdee, when telling her about the various engines, had described Edward as courteous, knowledgeable and warm. He had warned that most of his interactions were many years old and could have been out of date, and Delphine felt that Edward must be one of them.

It wasn't that he had been rude or anything, Delphine simply had the impression that the tender engine was a bit… distant. He hadn't seemed very excited to meet her, and came across tired and bored as he described the harbour. As Ben started telling a long joke, Delphine turned to Edward. He was still awake, but his eyes were focused on a dirty window, silently watching the night while the others joked around him.

 _He is old, remember_ , Delphine told herself. _He might just be tired, poor thing. I mean, he couldn't have possibly taken an instant disliking to you, could he? That would be ridiculous… unless he had heard things…_

"This might sound strange, but did you know anything about me before I arrived?" Delphine stared at Edward, leaving the question hanging between them, but a few minutes passed before he realised her watching him.

"I'm sorry, did you say something?" He showed her a smile, but Delphine could see it was one that didn't reach his eyes.

"Never mind, it was nothing." Edward's eyes seemed to have glazed over and he gave a tiny nod before turning away. Delphine wasn't sure how to respond, but she decided to remain silent, not wanting to risk anything on her first night.

"She's ignoring us, Bill!"

"She is indeed, Ben, how rude!"

"I'm sorry, boys, I just couldn't hear you over how loud your paint is." Delphine flashed a wicked smile as the twins gasped and Cole roared with laughter. She felt her mood lift as another string of gentle ribbing started afresh, and she soon forgot about Edward as he remained silent while they carried on into the night.

 _This isn't what I imagined, but maybe once work starts, everything will set itself right,_ Delphine thought to herself, and with that in mind, she was able to rest easy once she had finally bested the twins.

* * *

The accident happened quickly.

One moment, Edward and Delphine were arranging trucks, separating them so they could be taken to different sides of the island for other uses. The next, there was a horrible crunching sound that echoed across the harbour, and men was rushing towards the back of Delphine's train.

Edward sighed as he too came to a stop. They had only been on the job for half an hour, but already the work day had ground to a halt. He couldn't see much of the accident, but it was clear Delphine had pushed her trucks too hard into the buffers.

"I'm so, so, _so_ sorry Edward!" The diesel definitely looked apologetic, but no amount of repentance would solve this quickly. Edward had to avoid looking her in the eyes: he had hoped his worries would pass with a goods night sleep, but the accident only fuelled his flames.

"Its fine, just help get it sorted: bring around some extra trucks as replacement and a spare one so they can load the wreckage into it." Delphine timidly nodded, but before she could be uncoupled the stationmaster appeared before them.

"Cole was meant to collect Trevor and take him back to Wellsworth after his morning run but he's had to help Arthur get up Gordon's Hill. Delphine, can you go –"

"I'll do it," Edward interrupted. "She needs to sort out this mess." The stationmaster was taken aback by the forcefulness of Edward's words, but she nodded and left to make the arrangements. Edward avoided Delphine's eyes once more as he was uncoupled, but from the corner of his eyes he could see her eyes were watering. The old engine held back a sigh, pained to see the effect of his words, but he left without saying anything.

 _I'm sorry, but I'm not going to be turned into scrap so someone who can't even shunt properly can take my place,_ he thought as he left the harbour. _I've had to fight to prove myself since the moment I left that shed, I am not giving up now._

Edward thundered down his branch line. It had been a long time since he had gone with such intensity, and he felt every judder and bump as they reverberated through his tired frame. Yet the discomfort made for a helpful distraction: finally, Edward had something else to focus on that wasn't his age, that wasn't his past or future. For the time being, this was still his branch line, and Edward was going to enjoy the scenery for as long as he was allowed.

He reached the vicarage orchard in record time. His wheels and side rods ached more than they should, and Edward felt out of puff and he rolled into a siding alongside the orchard. Trevor had already been loaded and was waiting with a broad smile.

"Hello Edward, I wasn't expecting to see you so soon!"

"I know... I didn't want… to leave you… waiting," Edward wheezed as he buffered up to the truck.

"You don't sound very good. Is everything alright?" Trevor asked.

"I'm fine, I swear… just a bit puffed is all." Trevor didn't pry further, and once they were coupled up Edward took off without another word. The traction engine explained how he had cracked his flywheel after rolling down a hill and how Crovan's Gate was going to repair it, and Edward enjoyed the distraction of his words.

"Slow down, Edward!" Trevor cried after he had finished his story. The vicarage was not far from the station, and they were currently on time, but Edward was roaring down the line. "You aren't competing against anyone!"

 _Not that you know of_ , Edward thought, but the bitter thought made him sigh. "I'm getting old, Trevor."

"Aren't we all?"

"I'm being serious." The words hung heavily in the air for a moment before Edward continued. "The world is changing and I don't know if there is a place for me in it."

"Rubbish!" Trevor scoffed. "That's what I thought all those years ago when I was dumped in the scrapyard, but look at me now. If I can survive all these years, I don't think there is any getting rid of you."

"We are in two different lines of work though. The vicar doesn't need another traction engine, not when you are around – and I doubt they'll replace you after you saved everyone from disaster with that bridge collapse. But there are so many engines on the island now, and it'll take one major incident for the Fat Controller to decide I'm not worth replacing. Times are different now, and I am just a relic barely keeping myself together."

The station soon came into view. Edward sounded his whistle to let them know he was approaching. He looked to the left at the houses that had seemingly sprung up overnight: after years of knowing only fields and forests, the number of houses lining the tracks was quickly growing. Edward could remember when Wellsworth had been home to a few hundred, mostly workmen serving the line and their families. Now there were several thousand pushing against the town's borders, and there was a rush to keep up with demand.

"I am not afraid of change, I'm not, even though BoCo leaving threw me a bit, but that was more about losing a friend. I never felt… worthless, I guess, during that time. I don't feel very worthless now though, I suppose, just unwanted."

"Who doesn't want you? Has someone said something?"

"Well, not in proper words, but I can see the way the other engines look at me now. One hundred years I have been on this railway: I wasn't wanted when we first opened, so what's stopping the Fat Controller now that he has other options and doesn't have to rely on the old blue engine at the end of the shed?"

Shocked by his friends words, Trevor went to reply, hoping to comfort his companion. But before he could, Edward realised they were nearly upon the station yet he was still racing along.

"We need to stop."

"I am aware of that, but your brakes have stuck!" His driver yelled back. Edward felt his fire flicker, and he looked ahead to the open yard: a number of trucks were waiting there for Bear and his slow goods train, as well as the coaches Cole had left behind. If he couldn't stop, it was either hit those or be let loose on the Main Line where a worse fate awaited. _If I have a serious crash at this speed I will be done for…_

Screams sounded from the station as Edward soared past the platform and careened into the yard. Workers scattered, and people gazing from their houses near the station rushed backwards as the sight of the runaway engine. Nearby trucks squealed in fear, and for a moment Edward thought he would hit one, but the points were changed, and he swerved violently into a siding. Momentary relief turned back to fear as Edward saw what awaited him on the other side of the buffers. There was a jolt as his brakes were finally applied, but though his wheels screeched horribly, there was no chance of stopping what came next.

The crunch of the buffers breaking was followed by a thud as Edward slammed into the cell phone tower. The sound echoed across a suddenly silent yard. Edward slowly opened his eyes and found himself staring at the base of the tower. Slowly he looked down, bracing himself for the twisted state of his buffers. The sight shocked him, but something else caught his eye: he wasn't sure if it he was real or he was imaging, but to Edward, it appeared the tower was moving…

"CLEAR THE YARD!" The yell echoed as Bear's horn sounded in the distance, but it was too late. With a metallic creak, the tower toppled away from Edward, jagged metal scraping his front. There was a groaning thud, a deathly crack, a carrying gasp from all sides followed by the simple hum of a diesel engine slowing to nothing. Edward couldn't bear to watch what had happened, and simply sat there silently, waiting for help to come like the useless engine that he was.

* * *

Wilson and Rocky arrived promptly. Though Trevor had rolled forwards and slammed into Edward's tender, the traction engine was unharmed and Delphine shunted him away so Bear could leave with the undamaged trucks. The cell phone tower had considerately landed so that the Main Line was not blocked, which meant that all the other engines could pass and look at Edward's mistake.

The blue engine felt only shame. Not only did he have Delphine to contend with, who rolled past without comment as she brought flatbeds for the tower, but the Fat Controller had arrived to examine the situation. He had not yet spoken to Edward, but he could see his owner standing only a few metres away, watching as Rocky lifted the shattered tower into place.

Edward simply sat in silence, trying to hold back his tear. _There can't be any coming back from this. Why bother repairing a foolish, useless thing like me?_ There was little else to say, and when the Fat Controller finally approached him, Edward shut his eyes and waited for the inevitable.

"Well, well, well… You must imagine how bothersome this is, Edward. This was bound to happen eventually, I'm just sorry it had to happen to you." Edward opened his eyes and looked down: the Fat Controller looked annoyed, but he was staring at the tower rather than the blue engine.

"I never wanted this tower here, but the council said there was no other place for it, and Mrs MacMillan stirred up the locals to make sure it didn't go near the town. With a sturdier set of buffers it could have lasted, but I had no idea how subpar the instalment of it was – why, a strong gust of wind could have toppled this!" Muttering under his breath, the controller gazed angrily at the destroyed tower for a few moments before turning back to Edward. "Are you alright, Edward, you have the oddest look on your face."

"I… I am just… so I'm not in trouble?"

"Goodness no, I can't punish you for your brakes sticking. If the tower hadn't been here there wouldn't have been any trouble at all! You just enjoy your time at the works – your paint is looking a bit faded, now that I can see it clearly. Hmmm, should we paint you now or wait for the centenary?"

"You…you aren't going to scrap me?" The silence that followed was unbearable. The Fat Controller's face sank, and Edward cursed himself: the idea was out there now, he couldn't take it back. Was he about to receive his fate, learn of it months before the Fat Controller had planned?

"What would make you think that?" For a second, Edward thought he was asking how he had heard of his plans, but after several moments the blue engine was hit with a wave of relief. After twenty four hours of internal fretting, to have finally said it out loud to someone important, he realised how ridiculous he had been. An awkward, sad silence hung in the air, broken after several minutes only when the Fat Controller gently patted Edward's buffers.

"There seems to be this recurring idea that I am buying new engines as replacements for the old ones, but that is not the case. The busier we become and the more lines I reopen and extend, the more engines we are going to need. Every engine has a purpose on my railway, and that includes you Edward, don't you ever forget that."

The blue engine felt tears come to his eyes, but these were ones of happiness. "With the centenary coming up, it just reminded me of being put away in the shed for all those years, and I –"

"Say no more, Edward, I completely understand. But you must know that what happened to you was a reflection of Gordon Norramby's limited viewpoint and not on your skills. You may be old, Edward, but that simply means you are more experienced."

A few minutes later, Delphine was shunting Edward behind Rocky, Wilson ready to head back to Crovan's Gate. The blue engine couldn't stop smiling, and almost felt like laughing: it all seemed like a big joke now, the way his mind had escaped him like that. He looked at Delphine as she was uncoupled from him and felt a sudden guilt at how he had ignored her.

"Look after my line while I'm gone… not that you need the reminder, I am sure you will do an excellent job." The diesel looked stunned, but as the guard sounded his whistle and the train took off, Edward was relieved to see a smile cross her face.

The journey to Crovan's Gate was slow but peaceful: Edward looked around at all the sights that were so familiar, the stations and hills and forests he had long spent going past. The island was certainly changing, for the better he wasn't sure, but the railway he had helped built was still there beneath the surface.

 _The future I fear will come someday, but not any time soon. I may not be as useful as I once was, but I'm not going anywhere. We've all got a purpose on this railway – it's time I find out what mine is._

* * *

 **This took far too long to write, but I've already started on the next so hopefully we can get a lot more of these out before the end of the year!**


	4. Two Old Engines

**Two Old Engines**

 _Crovan's Gate – Skarloey Railway_

 _August 1915_

 _"They say once they finish that railway, more passengers than ever will come to see us."_

 _"That's only if the war stops, though."_

 _"Tch!"_

 _Rheneas glowered at Skarloey. "What is that sound for?"_

 _"You always have to find something to complain about, don't you?"_

 _"Oh shush, don't start an argument or we'll be at it all night."_

 _Skarloey opened his mouth to retort but knew his brother was right and remained silent. Without much work to do, all they did these days was bicker out of boredom, but after several months of cyclical arguing, both engines were tired of it._

 _If they could not argue, the only thing to do was stare. From the front of their little shed, Skarloey and Rheneas often watched the big engines as they went about their work. They didn't quite understand what was happening, but their drivers had said that it was a big project to join the railways together and improve the infrastructure. New tracks were being laid and soon the various branch lines would become one. A number of new engines had been brought to help with the construction, and the two little engines watched every day as they bustled to and fro down the line._

 _Sadly, the same couldn't be said for the two of them. The war meant that few people wanted to spend their spare time travelling down a little railway, so passenger trains had been reserved for only every other day. One of the engines would still bring down workers and take them back at the end of the day, but with the mines closed while the men went to war, there was little else to do but watch the world go past._

 _A few minutes passed before either of them spoke, but finally, Skarloey succumbed to the silence and turned to his brother._

 _"Things will pick up again after the war, won't they?"_

 _Rheneas didn't respond at first, his eyes transfixed on the empty yard beside them. After a few moments Skarloey tutted, and the well tank turned to him as though no time had passed. "If we win, I am sure they will."_

 _"What do you mean 'if'?"_

 _"Well, we might not. They thought the war would be over by now but it isn't, so really there is no telling what will happen, but either we win or they do, that's how these things play out."_

 _Skarloey was stunned. "Are you saying you think we will lose?"_

 _"I didn't say that at all, Skarloey," Rheneas said, frowning. "I was answering your question honestly, and_ honestly _, I don't know what will happen. You never do with fights like this. They are simply unpredictable. I am sure we will be fine: whoever wins will still need trains… hopefully."_

 _"I still can't believe what I'm listening to!"_

 _"It's not like I am saying anything other than facts!"_

 _"When were you such an expert?"_

 _"Remember my driver fought in that war a few years ago – the Boar War or something. He told me all about it when he came back."_

 _"Oh, so you hear a few stories and suddenly you know everything! You are always so serious and dull, it's quite boring."_

 _"Excuse me, what is that supposed to –"_

 _Rheneas fell silent. The yard had been quiet for hours, but suddenly, something stirred beside them. Both engines froze and watched as one of the new engines pulled up to their station and came to a halt. This wasn't that rare, as engines regularly stopped for water, but this one simply seemed to have stopped. Neither of them recognised it: the engine was long and blue and hauling an oddly shaped coal truck painted the same colour._

 _"What is that thing it's pulling?" Skarloey whispered._

 _"I'm not sure, but most of them seem to have one." Rheneas stared fretfully back at the engine, wondering why it had stopped at the station with only empty trucks behind. They were both curious as to what it wanted, but neither of them had the gall to speak up. However, after a few moments of staring, the large engine seemed to notice them and looked over._

 _"Hello there!" He called out._

 _"Hello," Skarloey replied timidly, unsure what to make of this large visitor. The new engines were nothing like the ones that had worked the lines when they had first arrived, and the brothers had spent much time wondering what they were like without ever thinking to ask. Yet as the blue engine came closer, Skarloey and Rheneas simply exchanged looks, frightened into silence._

 _"You two must be Skarloey and Rheneas," the engine said, and they both nodded. "Neil and the others told me about you and I've been looking forward to meeting you. Thank goodness I have to wait here for the next train to pass or who knows when I would have gotten the chance, we're so busy right now!"_

 _"I can imagine." The engine laughed, and Skarloey smiled timidly, unaware he had made a joke._

 _"My name's Edward. Could you tell me about your line please while I wait? It sounds so fascinating!" Skarloey and Rheneas looked at each other, stunned by this turn of events, but quickly looked back at their new friend with matching smiles, ready to tell all._

* * *

 _March 2015_

"Skarloey, look, look!"

"Shush, I'm trying to sleep."

"Skarloey, look, it's Edward!"

Begrudgingly, Skarloey opened his eyes. "He was here yesterday, I saw him at the opening."

"Yes, so did I, but look, he's going to the works." Skarloey followed Rheneas' line of sight and was surprised but pleased: Edward was rolling backwards into the Works, coupled behind the breakdown crane. Skarloey went to whistle but realised quickly his fire was out.

"Should we call out?"

"If you yell I will be very annoyed." Skarloey and Rheneas' attention turned instantly from Edward to Duke: the tender engine sat opposite them, one tired eye angrily fixed on them. The two brothers exchanged looks and remained silent: however, a friendly whistle sounded in the distance, and they looked back to see Edward smiling at them as he disappeared inside the shed.

"I hope he's okay."

"I am sure he's fine," Rheneas replied.

"Can you two keep it down? I'm trying to sleep. Never get a bloody wink at night with those impertinent rascals tittering away about their days. The young have no respect for the old," Duke added, looking at the two red engines pointedly.

Skarloey looked at Rheneas and scoffed. "You know we are older than you."

"Maybe your wheels are but your funnels certainly ain't," Duke grumbled. Skarloey gasped and opened his mouth, ready to argue, but Rheneas gave him a knowing look: Duke had been born grouchy, they said, but always meant well. Sir Handel and Peter Sam still idolised him after all these years, and picking fights with Duke only caused disharmony across the railway. The three of them spent a lot of time together these days, and arguing only made that worse.

Skarloey sighed and looked out at the world: it was barely noon, the other engines had only been gone for a few hours, and already he was bored. Rheneas stared back sympathetically, an unspoken agreement falling between them. There was only so much to discuss, only so many engines to comment on as they roared past on the Main Line, that conversation was quickly exhausted. Besides, while they were never as vocal about their tiredness as Duke was, the lull period in the middle of the day gave both old engines the perfect chance to catch up on lost sleep.

"Sweet dreams."

"You two." And the brothers shut their eyes, ready and willing for a nice long nap.

Unfortunately, the world had other ideas.

"Bugger, bugger, bugger!" Barely seconds later, Skarloey and Rheneas opened their eyes to find a well-built man in the shed, wiping grease from his forehead while simultaneously wiping it on his trousers. "Look alive, you three. I completely forgot about this. Only just woke up, bugger bloody bugger!"

"Forgot about what?" Skarloey asked, but the answer came very promptly: laughter sounded nearby, and within seconds a group of people had appeared in the tiny, mouldy shed. There were never this many people around in the middle of the day unless Rusty or Fred was being repaired, and Skarloey and Rheneas looked at each other in equal shock, overwhelmed at being suddenly surrounded.

From the pack of people, a tall blonde man stepped forwards, bring the group to a hush. "Ah, here are my beautiful machines!" He clapped his hands and beamed broadly around the shed, but his smile faltered at the sight of the three tired, unenthusiastic engines before him.

To say Sir Handel Brown IV was an interesting owner was putting it mildly. Privately educated on the Mainland, he had not grown up around the engines the way his father and grandfather had. In fact, after his father died suddenly of a heart attack several years earlier, the day the railway board accepted him as the owner was the first time any of the engines had seen him for many years. Their drivers said that the railway's rules stipulated that the owner must live on the Island, cutting the newly knighted Handel Brown's burgeoning career on the Mainland short.

It meant that he always had an air of not wanting to be there whenever he did visit the railway, and when it came to Skarloey and Rheneas, the feeling was mutual. Given their age and the amount of work needed to keep them up to code, Sir Brown had insisted they be kept back for the weekends, where their presence on passenger trains would be a big draw and would allow the younger engines time to rest. The two brothers could see his reasoning, but it was dreadfully dull being cooped up inside all week with only grumpy Duke for company.

The other faces were a mixed bag. Serena Hugh, with short brown hair and tatty blue pantsuit, looked far more affectionate as she smiled down at the engines; her role as Manager meant she was much more hands on, and though she had taken over from the late Roger Sam only a few years ago, she had a kindly authority that made it feel like she had been in charge for years.

Between her and Sir Brown stood a woman Skarloey and Rheneas both mildly recognised as Margaret MacMillan: she turned up to every major event on the railway calendar to ensure her claims about getting out amongst the public were true come election time, and her distinctive blonde-grey bob and pastel suits made her difficult to ignore. Next to her was Lady Brown, a petite brunette her husband had only married in the last few months. She rarely visited the railway, normally only standing on the platform staring at the engines in revulsion. Indistinct men from the board of directors milled about, staring dispassionately at the leaking roof. Neither Skarloey nor Rheneas knew why they were all here and could only imagine the worst.

"So, here you two are; this year's star attractions!" Sir Handel's smile was broad and flashy and looked genuine on the surface, but the two red engines could see there was almost something manic about it, as though he was seeing only piles of money. "The big party is coming up, boys. 150 years – though you don't look a day over 100!" His wife laughed shrilly at the joke, and Skarloey and Rheneas forced smiles.

"Lovely Sir Brown here was just bringing me up to speed on the plans for later this year," Margaret said, stepping forwards and patting Skarloey on the buffer. "It is _truly_ going to be a swell time! I do actually remember coming to your centenary when I was just a little girl, it is going to be hard to top it but I am sure we can manage!"

"Oh, don't worry, we definitely will be! Hatty may have the bigger engines, but we've got the bigger spirit!" Sir Brown beamed as he gazed around the group, smile faltering as his eyes settled on the dozing Duke in the corner. "Isn't that right, um…" Serena stepped forwards and whispered in his ear. "Oh, yes, of course – isn't that right, _Duke_?" He said, turning and winking at Serena. The tender engine opened his eyes, a foul scowl on his face, and Skarloey saw Margaret back away as though Duke was about to pounce.

"Who's this?" He said finally, staring grumpily at Sir Handel.

"It's our owner," Rheneas replied.

Duke looked at the man and shut his eyes. "He's not our owner. Now let me get some sleep."

Sir Handel looked appalled. "Yes I am!"

Duke opened an eye. "No you're not." Skarloey and Rheneas simultaneously giggled but held it in as the board of directors looked confused. "Our owner is fat, with a moustache. You don't have a moustache."

"You're thinking of our old owner," Skarloey said.

"What happened to him then?"

"He died, remember, about three years ago."

"Did he?"

"Four."

Skarloey glowered at Rheneas. "Three."

"No, four. It was only a few months after you got stuck in the snow at Christmas."

"Oh yes, of course."

"No one told me he," Duke huffed.

"I am sure we would have, Duke," Rheneas said, glancing exasperatedly at Skarloey. "Remember; he had a heart attack, Peter Sam was pulling the train?"

Duke paused for a long moment before nodding. "Ah yes, I think I remember now. Not entirely surprising, though, is it, when you think of his –"

"Excuse me, but this is my father you are talking about!" Sir Handel huffed.

"We did know him longer than you."

"What was that?"

"Nothing." Sir Handel looked suspiciously at Skarloey, who managed to keep a straight face and avoid Rheneas' eye long enough for the owner to shrug it off and turn away.

"Well, at least these two remember you, and that's what counts." The Thin Controller stepped forwards. Serena Hugh was not fond of the nickname but endured it for the sake of tradition. However, if anyone did dare call her that to her face, they earned a steely stare that quickly ensured they would not do so again. "You've got to examine your collection, Handel, but I think they need some rest now, isn't that right, Nick?"

The sweaty man leapt up from his makeshift perch on an upturned diesel can, frantically wiping his greasy bow and smiling back at his sister.

"Yes, that's right – the old ones need a lot of rest during the week, shouldn't keep them up too much or they won't be rested in time for the weekend!" His smile was broad and goofy, and Sir Handel stared at him distastefully for a few moments but knew better than to argue with his chief engineer. Nick Hugh had taken on the job after his father retired last year, and unlike his boss, he had spent his whole life around the engines and knew them better than he knew himself. It made him both ideal for the role and, despite his general air of cluelessness, gave him a lot more authority than Sir Handel when it came to these matters.

"Alrighty then, I think gentlemen and ladies, we should retire to my office to finalise the plans, leave the old boys to it, eh?" The board of directors all nodded and muttered in agreement, and marched single file out behind Sir Handel. Only Serena, Nick and Margaret remained, the MP looking around the shed, eyeing the sagging corner in particular.

"Anything I can help you with, ma'am?" Serena's voice snapped the politician out of her trance, who quickly turned and flashed a slightly yellowed smile.

"Not at the moment, my dear. Enjoy your rest," she added, waving to the engines, before hobbling after the rest of her group. Serena peered around Duke to make sure she was gone before sighing and collapsing onto his front.

"Watch it!"

"Sorry Duke but I've had a _long_ morning dealing with that lot, I need a break!" She sighed and stretched her legs, grunting irritably as she did so. "You two can remember his father, right?"

Skarloey laughed. "Of course, ma'am; if we can remember 1865, nothing would stop us forgetting him."

"Good, we'll undoubtedly be hearing a lot about the wonderful Brown family over the next months, so make sure you have some stories to keep him on board, ok?" The two brothers nodded and Serena beamed, leaping back to her feet. "I should get back to it, play my part. Is there anyone you want us to add to the guest list? Brown wants us to send invitations out straight away, and if it's your party, you might as well have some friends."

"I don't think there's really anyone we know that doesn't already work on the railway," Rheneas replied in a shrug-like tone.

"Well, there is Nancy, I'm sure she'd love to be there." For a second, Skarloey smiled, memories rushing back to him of the old cleaner, and he quickly began thinking of what he could tease her with when they next saw her. However, when he looked back at Serena, he saw her face had fallen, the casual smile no longer present. It was unsettling, and Skarloey felt cold as it occurred to him they hadn't had a visit from Nancy in a while…

"I'm sorry, I can't believe no one told you two, but… well, there's no way else to say this, but Nancy… she died last year."

The silence that followed was unlike any they had ever experienced. Skarloey and Rheneas looked at each other, their faces mirror-images of shock and dismay. They both had questions, but neither one could bring it to say the words aloud, as though acknowledging the news would somehow make it real.

"Christ, I'm so sorry you two," Serena said only a few moments later, but hours could have passed. "It happened right around when Dad retired, we must have forgotten to say in the changeover. It was sudden, a brain haemorrhage, so she didn't suffer or anything. I really want to stay and talk this over more, but Sir Handel is waiting for me… I'll come back right after, I promise." Serena gave them one final distraught look before turning and rushing away, but the two brothers hardly noticed, still processing the information. Mr Hugh lingered awkwardly for a minute before disappearing into his workshop, leaving only the engines roaring past on the Main Line to interrupt the mournful quiet.

"Who died now?" Duke opened one eye that flickered between the two, but neither engine looked at him. They stared only into the distance, silently, taking it all in.

* * *

 _1968_

"Well, that's me done for the day."

 _Skarloey looked up, just as a line of soap suds slid down his face. "Already?"_

 _Nancy laughed as she rinsed out her cloth. "I've been here for two hours, how much longer do you expect me to stay?" Skarloey simply stared back, frowning._

 _"Did you at least get my back buffers?"_

 _"Of course, Skarloey, how could I_ possibly _forget?" Nancy and Rheneas both burst into laughter, and even Skarloey managed a smile. He was fond of the girl, even if he tried not to show it. He had had a few cleaners over the years, but none had shown much interest in anything other than getting the job done and going home. Nancy made a performance out of it, chatting and teasing the engines, turning it into a job more than volunteer work, and they all loved and appreciated her for it._

 _Nancy tipped the soapy water down the drain and threw her supplies into the bucket. "See you next week then?" Skarloey asked lazily, turning away even as he said it to watch BoCo hurtle by with a goods train._

 _"Of course not, silly."_

 _"What?" He snapped back to attention, eyeballing Nancy curiously._

 _"You know I'm going away, right?"_

 _"What do you mean?"_

 _"Gosh, your memory must be failing in your old age! I'm off to university next week, remember?" The faint echoes of conversations past floated back to Skarloey, but he usually dozed off during Nancy's visits if he wasn't holding court, and the new information must have gone right over him._

 _"You might have mentioned something about it… remind me again?"_

 _Nancy sighed dramatically but her kindly smile remained. "I'm going to university on the Mainland: Cardiff in Wales, I'm going to study politics. Rheneas remembers me telling you this, don't you?"_

 _"Of course – some of us pay attention," he retorted, smirking._

 _"I remember you saying you were going overseas, but I didn't realise it was going to be for so long… I thought it was just a holiday…" Skarloey couldn't mask the sadness in his voice, and Nancy's smile faded. She stepped forwards and wiped the suds off his face, staring right into his eyes._

 _"Did you really think I could survive cleaning you all for the rest of my life?" Skarloey didn't reply, trying to avoid staring her in the eye, but there was no avoiding Nancy. "I'll be back during holidays, and who knows, I may move back here at the end of it all. But I will always remember you, I promise you that."_

 _Skarloey still didn't answer, struggling to control his emotions, and after a few minutes Nancy patted his buffers and picked her bucket up again._

 _"Well, I will see you both when I see you."_

 _"Bye Nancy," Rheneas chirped, "we will miss you." Skarloey looked up as Nancy waved and began to walk away, sticking to the side of the sheds as Rusty rattled in. He glanced at his brother, and Rheneas gave him a knowing look, one only he could muster, and Skarloey knew he couldn't stay silent._

 _"My brother lives in Wales! You should go visit him for us."_

 _"Already planned a trip around it," Nancy shouted back. "Going to tell him what an awful little engine you are!"_

 _"I bet the cleaners at Talyllyn do a smoother job!" Nancy's joyful cackle echoed across the yard, and Skarloey and Rheneas laughed sombrely themselves, watching her go until she had disappeared into the station._

* * *

The sheds were silent that night. Normally, the engines would return home at night and regale each other with stories and gossip from their days, but not tonight. The news of Nancy's death had spread, and every engine, whether they had known her well or not, had slunk silently into the shed out of respect.

The atmosphere in the yard was that of a wake, the engines mournfully quiet as they came together, none of them quite sure what to say and to whom. Instead, they simply rested wide-eyed and reflective, letting the peace of the night take hold and keep them together.

For Skarloey, he had no idea how to react. He had shed several tears earlier once the news had sunk in, but after several hours dwelling on it, he now just felt empty and lost. Nancy had not been a regular around the sheds for many years, though as soon as he thought of her, Skarloey had gone back decades, remembering the hours he had spent with the cleaner. Even after she had returned from university and became a fixture of local politics, whenever Nancy came for a visit, Skarloey always thought of her as his cleaner: they laughed, they joked, they teased each other back and forth, always acting as though not a single day had gone by since their last encounter.

"You know what the worst part is?" It was the first time he had spoken for hours, and the engines nearest – Fred directly opposite, Peter Sam and Duncan on the side track – jumped at the sound of Skarloey's voice, the shed so quiet it was as though they were frozen in time. "I never noticed she had stopped visiting us. Not once did I ask myself 'where's Nancy, why hasn't she visited us recently?'. I just carried on as normal not ever thinking about her. After all these years and I completely forgot about my friend…"

"Come on Skarloey, you can't beat yourself up," Peter Sam whispered. "It's your fault in the slightest."

"If someone had told us she was sick, we could have done something for her. Thomas told me once about how he and Toby helped a woman who lived on their line get better once. We could have done the same for her, seen her one last time." Skarloey sniffed at this and looked at Rheneas for reassurance, but his friend was staring at the leaky ceiling, not saying a word.

"It makes you think, doesn't it?" Duncan grunted, drawing everyone's attention. "She used to be a wee girl, didn't she? But she got older and we've stayed the same… it does your funnel in, thinking about that sort of thing."

"We've gotten older as well, Duncan. We are just more… well, a bit less…" Peter Sam trialled off, unable to think of a word, but Skarloey knew what he meant.

"The world changes except for us. We've lived through more than any human ever has or will and we keep on going even when they are gone. I'm 150 years old soon… when I say that out loud, I can barely comprehend it. When I first arrived on this island, I had to be lifted out of a wooden ship using its derricks, then come and build this line all on my own before Rheneas got here. And everything has changed since then: the people, the island, everything except me. No one who worked on me was alive at the end of that century, and now I'm living in my third. I should have known Nancy would leave us, just as everyone else has and will, but even after all this time I like to think that things will stay the same."

A grim silence fell again as Skarloey's words resonated through the sheds. It was something the engines were all aware of, even Ivo Hugh the youngest of the lot: everything was constantly changing but the engines stayed the same, unaffected by time the same way the natural world was. Skarloey only had to think back to the conversation today about the late Sir Handel Brown: how many owners had he outlasted? Or managers, drivers, firemen, passengers? He had had so many friends over his 150 years, but just like Nancy, they all left him eventually.

"I don't think I ever met her, but from what I've heard, she sounds like she was a really nice lady." Fred smiled glumly at the others, and Peter Sam and Duncan nodded in agreement, but something in those few words lit a fire inside Skarloey.

"If you didn't know her, you don't get to say things like that!" He snapped suddenly. Fred looked shocked, and even Duke opened an eye at the burst of anger. Skarloey's annoyance came quick and without consideration, and even if he wanted to he couldn't hold it back. "Nancy was my friend for many years, long before you arrived here: you can't sit there and think you can feel as bad as me, as the rest of us! It's just plain –"

"Leave him alone, Skarloey." Rheneas hadn't said a word since Serena's bombshell that afternoon, so his words were raspy but loud enough that Skarloey was instantly silent. "No one has any right to be more upset than anyone else."

"He doesn't understand," Skarloey retorted, annoyed his friend was not on his side. "Nancy wasn't even working here when Fred started: he doesn't know her as the cleaner who used to be here nearly every day, who used to flick our noses with her rags or tease me about the good old days. It's rude to pretend to be as sad as us."

"I'm not pretending, though," Fred mumbled, staring at the tracks to avoid eye contact. Skarloey glowered back at him and went to reply, but Rheneas interjected.

"I haven't known Nancy as long as you have, does that mean I don't get to feel the same as you or Peter Sam or Rusty? We are all in shock, Skarloey, don't tell anyone how to grieve and just let them be." Rheneas spoke with a sense of finality to it, as though he had closed the matter, but Skarloey was not ready to be silenced.

"Your right – I was a lot closer to Nancy than you were, so you have no right to tell me how to feel! She was my friend, not yours!" Peter Sam and Fred gasped and the sound carried throughout the year, hanging over the pregnant pause that followed Skarloey's outburst. The tank engine had not realised what he had said until he had spoken, and now that the words had settled in, Skarloey had shocked himself. Yet it was too late to take them back: Rheneas' mouth hung ajar for a few moments as the shock passed through him, and then he laughed. It was strained, humourless, but a laugh nonetheless.

"You know, I thought you were better than this, and that you might have grown up after all these years, but you're still just the same engine you were when you first arrived."

"Excuse me?" Skarloey scoffed. "What is that supposed to mean?

"You would think that after all these years you would have realised to appreciate my view or anyone else's other than your own. I admit you have become better over the years, but _deep down_ , the engine that refused to work, that boasted about his cab, that Skarloey is still there."

If the yard had been silent before, there was no word for how quiet it was now. Skarloey was speechless, unable to comprehend what Rheneas was saying, and the other engines, even Duke, were watching the two with bated breath.

"You've always undervalued me. You may not realise it, but when it comes to issues like this, I think you still see me as younger than you even after, what, 150 years!" Rheneas laughed the last two words despite the clear anger on his face. "You keep referring to yourself and your memories, trying to take control, focusing only on yourself. It's times like this when your true colours come out, and frankly, I am sick of it!"

He clearly had more to say, but as he choked on the last few words, Rheneas simply shook his head and looked away, staring determinedly at the wall. Skarloey tried to think of a response, but a sudden sadness, something deeper and more ethereal than what he had felt before, overwhelmed him.

The sheds were silent for the rest of the night, no one so much as whispering, the mournful atmosphere now tense and uncomfortable. The change in tone meant that everyone slowly drifted off to sleep, but Skarloey stayed awake long into the night, staring at Rheneas and wondering where that outburst had come from, if there was anything he could say in the morning to make it better.

* * *

 _1962_

 _"Well… here we are then."_

 _"Indeed we are."_

 _Skarloey and Rheneas were alone at last. For hours, the other engines had crowded around Rheneas, as though checking he really was the legendary engine they had heard so much about. Rheneas had been taken aback by the attention but savoured it, surprised that after so many years away anyone asides from Skarloey cared that he had returned._

 _However, it had all become disorientating after a while, and Rheneas had been relieved when the kindly diesel had suggested they leave the two old engines in peace. It was easier to adjust to returning with just his old friend by his side, the way it had always been._

 _Yet with so many years between goodbye and hello, neither engine knew just how to pick it up again. For about half an hour they commented only on passing engines Rheneas didn't recognise and on what the coaches had been like in his absence, but now silence had fallen, the two staring between each other and their surroundings, as though the spark that would rekindle their friendship was hidden in the yard._

 _"I see they changed the shed," Rheneas said eventually, and Skarloey smirked as they both stared upwards._

 _"Just a little bit. Need to fit more than just two old codgers in here now. Roof keeps leaking, though…"_

 _"How have the new engines been? They seem nice, if a little green."_

 _"Don't tell me they couldn't fix your eyesight," Skarloey gasped, and Rheneas raised an eyebrow. "They are_ red _, Rheneas, just like you." The well tank snorted and Skarloey beamed with pride at his joke._

 _"Cheeky sod," Rheneas said, rolling his eyes._

 _Skarloey just smiled and winked. "They are a good lot, really. Peter Sam and Rusty balance out Sir Handel and Duncan. They've been problems, but nothing I couldn't handle."_

 _"You keep telling yourself that," Rheneas retorted, and the two chuckled again. A horn sounded down the line, and Rheneas stared towards the station in the distance: the little grey diesel was talking to a tender engine on the main line, and even from afar they looked like old friends. It dawned on Rheneas that he didn't know either of their names, and he wondered how many other new engines were out there he wouldn't be able to recognise, how many new names he'd have to learn before he knew every engine again._

 _"I cannot believe how much things have changed."_

 _"Have they?" Skarloey looked around, his eyes gazing across the yard. "It doesn't feel that way. I mean, still the same old shed – well, mostly…"_

 _"You've been here to take it all in though. I am sure in small doses it doesn't feel different at all. I mean, I knew new engines had come to replace me, I never forgot that, but I guess in my mind I never imagined there being anyone but us on this line, that I wouldn't be able to recognise my home…"_

 _Rheneas' voice broke on the last line and he looked away. Skarloey didn't say anything, and more than ever Rheneas was glad to have his oldest and dearest friend alongside him again. They had had their fair shares of ups and downs, from their arrival right up to the war years, but no matter how much they irked each other or got tired of the endless days and nights stuck together, Rheneas knew that in an ever-changing world of new railways and different people, having one thing remain the same had been enough to get through it._

 _"What about you then, eh?" He teased after a few minutes, smiling once again. "Not still causing drama, are you?"_

 _Skarloey gasped melodramatically. "I will have you know I have mellowed out in my old age."_

 _"I'll believe that when I see it," Rheneas retorted, and both engines laughed. They carried on for a long time, the two chuckling away as the sun continued to sink into the horizon. After several minutes, it finally petered out, a warm silence falling between them again._

 _"I have missed you, you know, throughout all this. New engines, new ideas and all that. I have always asked myself what you would think of it all, what you would do if you had been here._

 _"I went away to the Works for a few years, having struggled enough to adapt to Sir Handel and Peter Sam, and then came back to find Rusty and Duncan were here. It is odd seeing other engines pulling the coaches and working at the Incline, but this is still our line: the trees are the same, the lake is still there, the tracks are new but they lead in the same direction. The people may have gone but this place will never go. Nor will we, for that matter."_

 _As he blinked back tears, Rheneas finally smiled. "That's certainly true. We may be old and broken, but nothing will get rid of us, eh?"_

 _"War, illness, mudslides, nothing can take us down."_

 _"Oh lord, don't remind me of that!" Rheneas began laughing, and soon it was like old times, the two friends, brothers, caught up in their own amusement. Their crews watched from afar at the two giggling engines, but neither Skarloey nor Rheneas paid them any attention. Things may have changed, but they were together again, with nothing, in their minds, to get in their way._

* * *

When Skarloey woke up the next day, tired and worn out, he looked to his side and saw Rheneas wasn't there. Duke was there as ever, eyes shut to the world, but Peter Sam was the only engine who remained, awkwardly looking up when Skarloey caught his eye.

"Rheneas insisted on going out this morning, and my crew and Mr Hugh agreed," he explained before Skarloey could ask and then looked away. Peter Sam clearly didn't want to bring up what had happened last night, and Skarloey was relieved, unwilling to relive it again. In hindsight, he realised how poorly he had acted, consumed by grief and confusion though that was no excuse.

 _I need to apologise to Fred and hope he forgives me,_ the old engine thought. _Rheneas though…_ Gazing at the empty track next to him, Skarloey was not sure if fixing things with him would be as easy. It was clear that Nancy's death and his comments had dredged up something deep for Rheneas, and a simple apology would not be enough. Yet Skarloey had no idea what he could say to even address the situation let alone apologise, and if Rheneas was avoiding him, that would only make things harder.

"Hello all!" Skarloey and Peter Sam looked up as Edward pulled up next to them, smiling widely as he gazed down at them. "How are we all?"

"Alright," Peter Sam said, awkwardly glancing at Skarloey. "What about you Edward? Your buffers look a bit twisted."

"Yes, I had a bit of a run in with a cell phone tower. I have to wait for some new hydraulic buffers to come in from the Mainland, so they fixed my brakes first. Just having a little test run to make sure they are working properly, and where else to visit but here." Edward smiled down at them, and Skarloey and Peter Sam grinned back, but their smiles did not reach their eyes and the blue engine's face sunk. "Is something wrong? You both look a bit tense."

"It's nothing for you to worry about, Edward, just some –"

"A woman called Nancy died, Skarloey was upset and insulted Fred and then Rheneas got angry with him and has left the shed." Everyone looked at Duke, and the brown engine opened a sleepy eye to stare back. "Was I not supposed to say that?"

"Granpuff!" Peter Sam groaned, but Skarloey didn't mind. He needed the opinion of someone he trusted, and there were few engines as wise as Edward. He looked up at his old friend and was thankful that Edward looked back with only kindness and not judgement.

"I am sorry to hear about Nancy, I remember how much she meant to you. I am sure if Rheneas is angry that most of it will be grief –"

"You didn't hear the things he said," Skarloey interrupted. He felt cold just thinking about it, the accusations rushing back to him. "I think what I said… it had a powerful effect on him. I don't know if I can look him in the eye again now I know what he thinks of me."

"If you both value your friendship, you will find a way to sort it out. You have known each other for 150 years now, that's not a relationship that will just end overnight." As Edward spoke, a familiar whistle sounded down the line, and Skarloey looked up to see Rheneas at the platform. Even from afar, he could see his friend stare at him for a prolonged pause before determinedly looking away.

"I want to believe you, Edward, I really do, but I don't know how easy it will be." The blue engine said nothing in response, silence falling between them. Skarloey was pleased for the quiet. He had a lot to think about, and, as he watched Rheneas leave a few minutes later, the old engine knew it would take more than an apology to heal these wounds.


	5. A Tunnel Too Far

**A Tunnel Too Far**

 _March 2015_

It was fair to say that nearly everyone on Sodor was having a good day. By some miracle, the sun had broken through the clouds and cast its radiant beams across the island, basking the residents in the warm glow. The unexpected weather had had a positive effect on most of the railway: trains were running to time, coaches and trucks were behaving, and everyone was whistling to each other as they passed.

For Henry, it was an absolutely perfect day, and he wasn't going to let anyone dampen his spirits – not even grumpy little engines.

"Are you alright? You look rather cross today."

"I'm fine, thank you," Rheneas replied curtly, in a tone that made it perfectly clear everything was not fine. On any other day, Henry may have pushed further, but he was simply not in the mood. The problems of little engines were none of his concern, and with everything else going so well, he simply shut his eyes and waited for the guard's whistle, savouring the sun's loving warmth.

When he heard Rheneas set off a few minutes later, Henry opened his eyes, expecting to follow suit, but was dismayed to see his driver standing on the platform.

"Why are we still waiting?" The green engine yelled. "We're going to be late?

"Calm down, Henry, we still have plenty of time," his driver laughed. "I haven't seen you this keen for years! You know we need to be more cautious about crossing the points here after what happened with that Mario engine. We need to wait for Donald to come through and then it's off we go."

Henry sighed. He knew he was being impatient, but he didn't want anything to spoil his day. He had waited years for this opportunity, and if anything went wrong today, who knows how long it would be again.

A few years ago, if Gordon had been unwell or engaged, Henry had always been the first choice to take the Express. It had been that way for years, decades, and though the green engine was not nearly as boastful as his friends, it certainly filled Henry with pride to know he would be the first choice of replacement: not James, not BoCo or Bear – him.

That was until Pip and Emma took over. With the high-speed sisters handling the job, if there was ever a need to replace them, Gordon was on standby to resume his old job. At the time, the decision had not affected Henry that much. Taking the Express had always been a treat and a privilege, but it was tiresome if done too often, and in his growing age, Henry was fine without rushing about.

Yet this morning, when they had learnt Pip and Emma were stuck in London, and then Gordon's injector failed, Henry had felt a rush of excitement and pride to know he would be hauling the Express once again. No one liked to sit on the sidelines too often, and given how long it had been between trips, Henry was ready for another go. With the island crowded with engines, any stuff ups and the task would easily fall to someone else next time: Henry knew he had the prove it, and with the weather on his side, it was all on him to make it work.

A few minutes later, Donald rattled through the yard. Henry was ready and set off as soon as he heard the guard's whistle, slowly gaining speed as he left the station, and once Donald had passed, he tore off down the main line.

There was no wind today, but Henry felt the air batter him as he roared down the tracks. There were no stops between here and the Mainland, and with no one in his way, he had the entire line to himself.

 _I haven't had a run like this for decades! I forgot how great this feels._ Wearing an unstoppable grin, Henry whistled in joy and listened to it echo around the empty fields.

"Calm down, Henry! At this rate, we'll reach Barrow before the passengers do!" Henry ignored his driver, too enamoured with the sound of his wheels hammering the tracks, savouring the speeds he never got to run at anymore.

In what felt like mere minutes after leaving Crovan's Gate, Henry rounded the bend and saw the tunnel up ahead. _We're nearly there_ , he thought. For a moment he was disappointed his journey was nearly over, but then remembered he could do it all again on the way home. Smiling at the thought, Henry whistled ecstatically again as he soared into the tunnel.

The bright sun was replaced by darkness instantly: Henry was going so fast that the transition was disorienting. He blinked rapidly to adjust, and that was when he heard a crack.

"What was that?" He shouted, but his crew didn't get a chance to respond. Something fell from the tunnel roof up ahead, and Henry winced as his brakes were instantly slammed on. The sound of screeching wheels and the coaches shouts echoed everywhere as more rocks fell to the tracks. Henry knew he was going too fast to stop; he eyed the end of the tunnel, hoping they would make it in time.

Then there was a whoosh like falling water. The light disappeared, and Henry cried out as something hit his face.

* * *

Barry knew there was trouble when he saw the look on the stationmaster's face. Pushing through the swarm of people trying to get down to the beach, the grey-haired man looked deeply distraught, eyes heavy with something close to terror.

 _I didn't hit someone when I pulled in, did I?_ The platform was crowded today, with so many people scrambling to Norramby to savour the sunlight by the ocean, and now that Barry thought about it, someone easily could have been pushed off – there might have been a bump, actually, when he stopped a minute ago…

Barry waited tensely as the stationmaster conversed with his crew. The sinking feeling in his firebox got worse as he heard his fireman swear loudly. A moment later, his driver appeared sombre faced by his side, and it was as though all of Barry's fears had come true.

"Looks like we are going to be stuck here a while. Henry's come off the rails in the tunnel – sounds like a cave in or something. They are keeping the line clear for the next hour while they get everyone to the crash site."

Barry breathed a sigh of relief, even though the news was nearly as bad. He hoped Henry and his passengers were alright, but he couldn't deny it felt good to know he hadn't done anything wrong.

"Are there any injuries?"

His driver shrugged mournfully. "Not yet, the guard only just sent the call out. I am sure we will know soon. I guess the only thing to do is enjoy the view… and it was going to be such a lovely day…"

Barry felt his firebox sink again, instantly guilty at that brief moment of relief. He stared out towards the ocean unable to enjoy the view – not that he had been in the first place.

The last few days since Barry had come home had been so disorientating, and this was just another step in the wrong direction. He had tried convincing himself that it was just a readjustment period: he had been away from Sodor for five years, it was natural to be concerned about coming back, no idea what had changed while he had been away. Give it a week and everything would be back to normal, he had tried telling himself.

But Barry was beginning to think it was all too much. There were new lines being built all over the place, with new engines brought in to fill them in. The scenery had changed so much: there were more houses than ever before, in some areas they had completely replaced forests or covered once empty hills.

Even this morning, when Barry had been told he was going to Norramby, he thought his driver was having a laugh. Before he had gone, the branch line was barely thought about outside of summer, with occasional services picking up and dropping off passengers to Crovan's Gate or Barrow. But now the fishing village had expanded, with a small shunting yard and extended pier alongside the station, and not one but two engines now serviced the line exclusively. The whole island seemed to have changed, and there was nothing for Barry to do but find a way to cope.

Yet there was no obvious job for him to fill. When Barry had first come to the island, there had been specific passenger trains and routes for him to go about, weekly goods trains and occasionally trips to the Mainland. There had been no such discussion over the last few days, and with so many new engines that he was confusing all their names, what need was there for him now.

 _I'll be sent away within months, I know it, I just know it…_

"Who are you and what are you doing at my station?"

Barry jumped, so startled he rammed into his coaches. He had been so caught up in his thoughts he hadn't noticed a dark green engine pull up alongside. For a moment, Barry thought it was Henry, as the engine had a remarkably similar build, but he soon saw subtle differences: a more curved front, a queer dome, an overall sleeker look.

"Are you deaf or something?" The engine sniped in a posh, crisp voice. "I asked who you are and why you are at my station?!"

"I'm Barry, I've just come back from a heri –"

" _Oh_ , so _your_ Bar-ry," the engine interrupted. He dramatically pronounced Barry's name, drawing out the two syllables. The engine had a thick face with a prominent brow and hooked nose, lips pursed out as his eyes gazed over Barry. "You really do look like they pulled you out of a scrapyard."

Barry was appalled and quickly forgot all about his worries. "And I suppose you must be Arthur then?"

"How _dare_ you!" The green engine spat out, looking about as horrified as the station master had. "I am Norramby Hall, thank you very much, though you can call me Robert for short."

"Norramby Hall – are you named after the –"

"After _the_ Norrambys? Yes, yes I am," Robert replied with a smug smile. "Sir Topham Hatt was looking to reinvigorate this line, and since the Norramby's _basically_ run the island, the Duke was asked to choose an engine to run the passenger services. Naturally, he picked me. I was already called Robert where I was, and since that was the name of the late Duke, it was like fate! It's very nice here; I am thoroughly enjoying myself, though it would be a lot nicer if they hadn't thrown a stinking fishing village in as well." He glared at the line of vans to the left of the station and theatrically sniffed at the air. The sea breeze did blow the smell of fish back towards the station, and Barry had to admit it wasn't that nice, but he wasn't going to admit that to this engine.

"The village was always here, they just developed –"

"Excuse me, but which of us works this line on a daily basis?" Robert interrupted, snapping furiously at Barry. "Don't come onto _my_ line and try and tell _me_ facts about the town _I_ am named after! One of us works this line every day, and it certainly isn't you."

Barry opened his mouth to reply, but after a few moments he simply sighed and looked away. On any other day, staring at the ocean and the way the sun shone against the surface would be a dream, but Barry was in no mood for scenery.

 _This Robert may be a prick, but he's right. How can I talk about this railway as though I still know it? I knew this would be hard, but this… this is something else…_ And Barry simply sat in silence, basking in the sun, waiting until he could leave and find a better distraction.

* * *

Henry was cold and terrified, a fear he had never experienced before.

A thunderstorm of apocalyptic proportions was raging across the island. The sky was a mass of steel, grey clouds rumbling and flashing high above the railway. There were bursts of lightning and bangs of thunder, and rain poured down so hard and fast it was as though bullets were falling from the sky. The wind blew at such an angle that even in the tunnel Henry could not avoid it, rain running down his face and into his eyes, forming a pool between his wheels and the wall.

"Make it stop, make it stop," the green engine moaned. He was cold, his fire had not been lit for months, he could feel spiders and bugs crawling around inside his cold, useless pipes. The rain was making him shiver worse than usual. It was at least washing the grime from his face, but that consolation was so small Henry barely noticed.

"I want to come out. I'm sorry. Please let me out. Hello? Is anyone there? I'm sorry. I'M SORRY!"

The wind simply tossed his words aside, but Henry kept yelling until he was hoarse. He stared out in the world, or at least what he could see in the semi-circle view he got above the ever-present wall, trying to make out some saviour in the distant, but there was only more rain.

 _Is this part of my punishment? Am I going to drown because I didn't want to get wait? I don't deserve this; I don't deserve to suffer like this. Why did the Director do this to me?_

As Henry felt tears mix with the rain on his face, something sounded behind him. He paused, listening through the storm, and suddenly heard a chuffing noise.

"Is someone there? Hello? HELLO?"

The sound got closer, louder and louder. The rails began to vibrate, and Henry heard the clatter of wheels racing towards him.

"STOP, THERE'S AN ENGINE IN HERE! STOP!"

The engine was getting closer and louder, dust trickling down from the ceiling. Thunder crashed and echoed inside the tunnel. There was a white flash of lightning, and a tree near the line exploded into luminous flames. Whole bricks were raining down on Henry, crashing into his funnel and cab, and while the mysterious engine got closer and closer…

"LET ME OUT! I WANT TO GET OUT! LET ME OUT! LET ME OOOOUUUTTT!"

"Henry, are you alright?"

When Henry opened his eyes, he thought was still dreaming. There was no storm, no brick wall before him, but his world had turned upside down: his crew were standing on a wall, blood running down their faces, white light shining blaringly behind them. It was a different kind of nightmare, and Henry shut his eyes as the panic set in.

"Henry, calm down, you're alright!"

"Why am I upside down?" The green engine wailed. "Am I still dreaming? I want to wake up, I want to wake up!"

"You aren't dreaming, Henry. You've had an accident and you're on your side, but everything's fine, we managed to stop before there was any serious damage."

Henry cautiously opened his eyes as a flash of memories came crashing back to him: the sunny day, the Express, rushing into the tunnel, bricks falling, suddenly going to black.

It was then Henry realised he was lying on the tunnel floor, sprawled across the track. He could feel the jagged pinch of rocks underneath him, and he saw he was at an angle, his body almost rammed into both sides of the tunnel. One of his coaches had derailed, its roof caved in, and Henry felt a horror he had never experienced before.

"My passengers! Are they…"

"There have been injuries, but nothing severe, just from the impact of the crash and the broken glass. Only two coaches came off the tracks, Emily took the rest away. Rocky is just lifting up the coaches and then they will come for you."

He smiled reassuringly, but Henry was still horrified. He looked up at the tunnel roof and saw exposed earth where brick should have been: this could have been much worse, and looking at the carnage around him, Henry knew that if he had been a few seconds earlier it would have been.

"There we go." Henry looked up as what had been the front coach began to rise up, the familiar pumping of Rocky's pistons sounding behind. "Don't worry Henry, you'll be upright soon enough!"

The green engine didn't share his driver's enthusiasm. "Your face, you're bleeding."

"It's just a bump, nothing too bad," his driver said, shrugging. "I may need to rest for a few days, but hey, you'll be at the Works anyway. It's not as severe as it could have been, be glad of that!"

"What do you mean?"

"Just that, well, if it had been any worse…" His driver's smile faltered finally, and he gazed pityingly down at Henry. "Well, I shouldn't say. Just be rest assured there was no harm done!"

"No harm done," Henry muttered, gazing between his injured driver, the collapsed roof and the upended coach. "No harm done…"

* * *

 _April 2015_

They kept Henry at the Works for a fortnight, though thankfully there was no serious damage. His buffers and side-rods had to be replaced and his cab roof repaired, but a thorough inspection found no internal damage. A new buffer beam was brought over alongside Edward's, and less than three weeks after the accident, the big engine was back on the rails again.

The bigger job was repairing the tunnel. While Henry was away, the left tunnel was closed so engineers could survey the site, forcing the other engines to slowly pass through the other side. It did not take long though for the engineers to conclude that the issue was with the rushed repairs down to the tunnels after the cave-in several years ago. The bricks were replaced and sealed with concrete to prevent it from happening again, and soon Pip and Emma were able to rattle through as normal without any worries of collapse again.

As that all happened, hopes that that glorious day of sunshine would continue were quickly dashed, as dull clouds returned to cover the sky, hanging heavily over everyone as they went about their work. It was a dull and dreary time, and the engines forced themselves through their work with thoughts of summer on the horizon.

It was a particularly dark and gloomy day that Henry found himself Barrow-bound once more. He had not gone through the tunnels once in the month since his accident, but BoCo had had an engine failure that morning and someone needed to take dairy trucks to the Mainland.

 _I bet it's going to rain,_ Henry thought as he pounded down the Main Line. The threat of a storm hung in the air as a heavy humidity and thick, black clouds blanketed the island. _The tracks will be slippery if it does rain, and then I'll have to go into the – no, don't think that way, Henry, everything is going to be fine. Absolutely fine._

Henry had become so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't realise they were stopping until he saw Rusty alongside. "What's happening?" He cried, unable to stop the unease creeping into his voice.

"We are just collecting some milk tanks," his driver replied gently, and Henry looked around as two farmers appeared with carts loaded with silver canisters. The big engine breathed a sigh of relief, though his eyes now turned back to the dark clouds above.

"Hello, Henry. You off to the Mainland?" Rusty called out, and Henry looked down at the little diesel, noticing the small coach and truck coupled behind him.

"I am indeed. Looks like you've got some repairs to do."

"Yes, unfortunately," Rusty sighed. "Some sheep got loose and damaged a set of points up the track."

Henry couldn't help but snort with laughter. "Sheep, really? Can they really do that much damage?"

"Oh yes, it's nothing to laugh at," Rusty said seriously. "If you get a herd of them and they all charge at one set, that doesn't end well."

Henry felt the smile fade from his face. "But our rails are made of metal, they are only sheep… surely the tracks are stronger…"

"Usually, yes, but there are other factors to take into account. We usually found that there are more likely to be problems with the track in the days after lots of slate has been moved from the quarry. A lot of things can damage the rails if they are not properly maintained."

The conversation was interrupted by the sound of van doors slamming followed swiftly by the guard's whistle. Rusty tooted goodbye, but Henry was too shaken to reply. As he left the yard behind, all he could think about now was the tunnel.

 _What if something went wrong? What if they didn't fix the problem? It was a rushed job last time, what if this time it's the same. No harm done, he said, but that was then, this is now…_

Henry thundered down the line as fast as he could, trying to shake himself of those thoughts. His trucks all rattled violently behind him, but Henry wasn't fussed about him. The countryside was a blur, the whole world disappeared as Henry focused only on the tracks ahead, making sure there were no cracks or rocks threatening to upend him once again.

He was not far from the tunnel when there was a boom overhead, and a second later the clouds finally gave way. Rain didn't necessarily fall but plummet from the skies, as though a dam had burst open above Sodor. Henry blinked and everything around him was saturated: everything from the countryside to the tracks ahead disappeared behind the storm.

"We need to stop," he whimpered, but his cry was muffled by the rain, and Henry kept racing forwards, his breathing get faster and more frantic the further down the line he went with no idea of what was to come.

Then he saw the tunnel.

It seemed to leap out at him as he rounded the bend, like a large animal lying in the wait with its deep, dark mouth leering openly. As more and more details emerged from the rain, Henry realised just how close he was, yet how far the light at the end of the tunnel seemed…

Without a second thought, he slammed his brakes on. Henry grunted as the weight of the trucks slammed into him, and he skidded down the slippery tracks, edging him closer and closer towards the tunnel. Finally, Henry stopped just shy of the mouth: the tunnel was right in front of him, the thunder of rain echoing inside the passage, but he had managed to stop.

Henry sighed with relief, but that didn't last long.

"What on earth are you playing at?" His driver appeared by his buffers, hastily thrown on raincoat already drenched.

"I'm not going in there," Henry replied firmly. "We don't know how safe it is!"

"For goodness sake, Henry, Pip and Emma have been through here twice a day for a week now and there haven't been any problems!"

"You can't be too careful. I'm sorry, but you are going to have to find another engine to risk their lives in there."

His driver stared angrily at the green engine for a moment before swearing loudly and marching back to the cab.

 _He's angry now, but he will thank me later_. Despite the torrential rain battering him, Henry managed to smile uneasily as he stared down the mouth of the tunnel, daring it to do its worst.

* * *

The rain seemed worse, if anything, by the time Barry stopped at Ballahoo. He had hoped that he would arrive and find out he could carry on to Barrow with his logging trucks, or at least be able to wait under nicer weather, but no such luck. Instead, he would have to endure the cold and wet for who knew how long.

 _No wonder they call it Henry's Tunnel. He seems to be the only one having issues with it_. Barry felt mean for thinking it, but given how freezing it was, he felt like his feelings were justified. Even with a warm fire roaring inside of him, the unwelcome downpour was one of the worst Barry had ever experienced – or at least it felt that way now.

Ballahoo didn't help his mood. The station felt rural, with just two platforms either side of the track with a small brick building on one side that served as a dismal ticket office and waiting room. Most of the people that used Ballahoo were workers heading into Barrow, so in the middle of the day in the middle of a storm, it was barren. The only sign of life was a large poster of Margaret MacMillan that covered a window, her cheery eyes staring madly out at Barry as he waited.

 _Isn't this just a happy little place?_ Barry thought sarcastically. He watched as his crew raced inside the stationmaster's office to warm up, leaving him completely alone in the downpour. Not that that was anything new. Even after a month back, Barry still had no idea what to make of the changed island. He had met new engines and learnt their names, and had slowly been brought up to speed with all the gossip and stories he had missed, but there was still something so detaching about it all. It was as though Barry had gone down one track and all the engines down another, and they had met up at the end with entirely different experiences. He wanted to be involved instead of watching from the sidelines, but every time Barry considered making an effort, he would eventually just think: why bother? Why try and force himself back into a world he didn't recognise and didn't belong in? If they didn't want him, why should he try?

"Oh joy, it's you." Barry's thoughts were interrupted by a dull groan that shattered the silence. As the sound of pistons pumping drew alongside, Barry felt a shiver pass through him that had nothing to do with the rain. "What are you doing here with… are those _logs_?"

 _A whole month just isn't enough time between visits, is it?_ Barry watched coldly as Norramby Hall came to a stop alongside, but the green engine was staring back at the trucks with a look of complete revulsion.

"Well, at least it isn't fish, I suppose," he said after a while, and finally turned to Barry. "But still, what exactly are you doing here, cluttering up my line?"

Barry wanted to snap back with something scathingly sarcastic, but given they could be here a while, he decided to hold his tongue. "It's Henry, he's stopped outside the tunnel and is refusing to move. They sent me down here so the track was clear for any engines coming from the Mainland. We just have to wait for –"

"Henry, you say?" Robert snorted. " _Bah_ , that imitation! What is he moaning about now?" He looked beadily at Barry as though expecting agreement, but when Barry said nothing, the green engine tutted even louder. "I have never been fond of him or any of his kind. Those A4 Pacific's are just pathetic copies of my class, you know. There wouldn't even be a Henry if it wasn't for me – not that that would be a significant loss."

Barry gasped in shock, he couldn't stop himself, and Robert smirked briefly at the reaction.

"I may not have known him very long, but that Henry sounds like a terrible nightmare, always having accidents or falling ill or doing something as _dramatic_ and _inconvenient_ as that. Maybe he has finally realised how useless and unnecessary he is and decided to just give up!"

"That is horrible, how can you say something so cruel?"

"Cruel? Please! I am just stating the facts, dear Barry. There are so many engines on this island now – better, fresher, more reliable engines, originals and not _lesser_ copies – that soon Sir Topham Hatt will realise he doesn't need any of the ones that have been clanking around here for the last 100 years. I bet Henry realised his accident the other week was just the beginning, and he might as well head off for the scrapheap of his own accord. It would almost be respectable if he wasn't being quite so _inconvenient_."

For a minute, Barry didn't say anything. It was not out of shock or disgust, though: rather, there was something in that hatred bile that Barry had never considered before. As horrible as he was, Robert's rant had given Barry an epiphany, and suddenly he didn't feel all alone anymore.

"You may be the single most revolting engine I have ever met in my entire life, but I guess I need to thank you." He let out a loud, sharp whistle that interrupted Robert before he had a chance to speak. Smiling with determination, Barry waited and look over as soon as his driver appeared to investigate the noise.

"We need to get to that tunnel."

* * *

If you keep forcing your brakes on, you are going to wear them out and we'll have to go back to the Works."

"That's fine with me." Henry wasn't sure if it was the endless rain or the tension in the air making his driver yell, but he was doing his best to keep his voice calm and quiet. He knew he was in the right, and yelling wasn't going to change anything.

His driver let out a groan that lasted half a minute, and Henry prepared himself for another verbal thrashing. However, his driver never got a chance to start: a whistle sounded behind them, and a moment later Barry was sliding to a stop alongside.

"Oh, Barry, hello!" The tender engine had been away for so long it still was surprising whenever he appeared, and for a brief moment Henry forgot all about the rain, his angry driver, or the fact they had been sitting at the tunnel mouth for nearly an hour.

"Hello, Henry. I thought when it came to you and tunnels you wanted to be out of the rain, not in it." Barry laughed kindly, and Henry smiled briefly back.

"Yes, yes, I am sure I am going to be hearing that joke for a while now."

"Well, I certainly won't tell anyone, but the longer you stay here, the more engines might see."

"I'm not worried about them, but it's nice that you care." Henry noticed the long line of flatbeds behind Barry. "Are you taking those logs to the Mainland?"

"I am – looks like you're going the same way. Maybe we can go together."

Henry's face sunk. "If you are here to try and force me to move, it won't work. I am not going through the tunnel. I just want to head back to Tidmouth but my driver won't let me. If you want to take my trucks, this will all be over and I can go home."

"I don't want to take your trucks. That's your job, not mine."

"Well, I'm not finishing it!"

"Why?"

"Because I might have another accident!" Henry stared down the tunnel, seeing where he had woken up weeks ago, almost in the exact same spot where he had been shut up for month, and there was nothing he could do to stop the feeling of dread that came over him.

Barry looked confused. "The tunnel is safe, Henry, you don't need to be afraid of it –"

"I'm not scared of the tunnel, I'm scared of crashing!" Henry snapped. "Bad things always happen to me, and I am too old to keep having accidents!"

Henry hadn't realised he had shouted the last few words until he finished talking, a sudden silence falling between him and Barry. Suddenly uncomfortable, he looked away, but the silence only stretched on, and Henry could feel Barry watching him, waiting for him to speak. The green engine wished he had been left alone, but he knew that now that he had said it, there was no turning back now.

"Every time something bad happens to me, I think of this tunnel." Henry only had to shut his eyes and think and he could feel the brick wall before him, the grime of months of neglect across his body. "When I started getting sick a few years after I was let out, I wondered if it was my fault for spending so long in here, if the cobwebs or dirt had damaged me somehow. When I was getting rebuilt, I would picture the tunnel to remind myself never that foolish again, that I would never get back that time I wasted."

"That thing that hurt most about it wasn't that I was alone or dirty or being punished, but the fact I wasn't needed. Edward, Gordon, Thomas, the other engines, they all got on fine without me. They could afford to leave me in there and not worry until they had no other choice. And if I wasn't needed then, then who says they need me now? So no Barry, it's not the tunnel that scares me: it's the thought of being that dispensable again. I think of the tunnel to remind me never to stuff up again, but it seems I just can't help myself…"

Henry trialled off, unable to carry on. He had never said anything like that out loud before, and though it felt like a weight off his buffers, Henry didn't feel any better for it. He looked down at his buffers and sniffed, hoping those were raindrops trickling down his face.

"Henry, you do realise you are talking to an engine that actually ended up on the scrap heap, right?"

Henry gasped. _You idiot!_ He instantly felt guilty and looked apologetically at Barry, but the black engine was smiling. "I know what that feels like, to think you aren't needed anymore. I know you think that because you don't get to pull the Express or because there are so many other engines that you're disposable, but you aren't. The Fat Controller isn't buying more engines because we are useless: he needs them to fill the demand. I've spent weeks thinking that I have no purpose, that there is no reason for me to be here, but I realised very recently that if the Fat Controller didn't need me, why bring me back? The fact I am back on the island and still doing jobs means that I am necessary, and so are you."

"We're necessary while we are in one piece, but what about when we fall apart? I'm the second replacement for the Express, and there are countless others that can fill in if I'm not available. My driver said it himself after my accident – it could have been worse, no harm done that time, but what about the next?"

Henry had forgotten his driver was standing right there and nearly jumped as he suddenly let out a booming laugh. "I wasn't talking about you, you big silly engine, I was talking about my head! I would never let anything happen to you, even if you can be a right pain sometimes."

"Oh…" was all Henry could say to that. He suddenly felt ashamed, and when he looked back into the tunnel, almost like magic it didn't seem as long and frightening as he had first thought.

"Henry, I want you to go through the tunnel with me. When we make it to the other side, you will see that everything is fine and there is nothing for you to be afraid of."

"We both know that's not true, not in the long run," Henry mumbled, but he knew he was fighting a losing battle.

"Your right, we don't know what's going to happen, but if you spend all your time worrying about the past or the future, you will never have time for the present." Barry looked away, a determined smile on his face, and Henry wondered who he was trying to convince. "Things may be different, but at least we have each other, right?"

Henry stared down the tunnel. At the very end, he could see that it was lighter, that it didn't look like there was as much rain. He may have been imagining it, but even if it wasn't real, Henry knew what that meant to him.

His driver climbed back into his cab, and Henry and Barry smiled at each other as together they rolled into the tunnel, and a minute later made it out the other side.


	6. Ride Before A Fall

**Ride Before a Fall**

When Richard Topham Hatt had been a young man, his father had asked him to visit him in his office. They were supposed to have lunch the previous day, but there had been an incident – something to do with Thomas and eggs, Richard couldn't remember exactly, but he could remember the sombre look on his father's face when he sat opposite him at his desk.

"You are going to need to be prepared for this," he had begun. "It may feel like most days there is some major calamity happening, but accidents are rarer than they seem. However, when something does happen, you need to be there and you need to deal with it, no matter what it is and no matter what you had planned. Sodor relies on the railway. It doesn't have to run smoothly, but it needs to _look_ like it's running smoothly, and that is your biggest challenge.

"In saying that, you need to find a life for yourself outside of the railway. You don't get many days off with this job. It is a burden I am sorry to leave you with, but someone has to run this railway, and our family knows it better than anyone. Just make sure that you have something to keep you busy, otherwise, this job will destroy you before you know what hit you, and that isn't good for the railway, the engines, or the island. Now, where should we go for lunch?"

It had been a startling conversation that Richard hadn't expected, but several decades later, he was glad for the advice. Since he had taken on the job and the title – both the formal and the informal – his days were consumed by everything that happened on the railway. At least once a day there was an incident that required his attention – sometimes it was first thing in the morning, other times it was five minutes after he had left the office. No matter if it was a weekend or he was on holiday, the railway kept on going, and there was nothing he could do about it. At the end of his first week, Richard had gone home unsure how he could go back the next week. It was as he stared in the mirror, reflecting on his new grey hairs, when he remembered that conversation and knew exactly what to do.

He had started gardening. It probably wasn't what his father had had in mind, but Richard thought it was the perfect job. Not only did it keep him fit (unfortunately, the family curse of the unstoppable gut had not passed him by), but it was something Richard could always control. Flowers were kept in neat little rows, weeds and pests were swiftly taken care of, and all watering and maintenance was kept to a strict schedule. It didn't matter what chaos had engulfed the railway the previous week, Richard knew that at least his garden was under his control.

Unless, of course, it rained.

"Can you please stop standing there like some gormless statue and pass me the jam, I have asked you five times already!"

Richard sighed and turned away from the window. Everything out there was grey. The rain was falling so heavily he could barely see the back fence let along his garden, but that only made him imagine the worst.

"Stop worrying about those blasted flowers," his wife grumbled as she took the jar from his hand.

"But dear, they are drowning."

"They'll survive, flowers love water. This is your first weekend off in months, and you are not spending it staring mournfully out are you damned flowers!" She shot him a steely look across the table, and Richard knew there was no fighting Lady Harriet Hatt on this matter – not that he planned to anyway.

It was not often that he got time off these days. With the centenary preparations adding to his workload, there was little time during the week to get through any other paperwork, meaning that the last two months he'd spent much of his weekends catching up on admin. He enjoyed his job most weeks, but Richard never forgot his father's words and always aimed to make the most of his time off. And now, catching his wife's haughty expression over the toast, he knew he was not the only one that had been missing these lazy weekends.

"Why don't we go and see a movie? We haven't done that for ages."

"It'll be packed, it always is when it's raining."

"Not this heavily. Most people will want to avoid the roads."

Harriet paused in the middle of jamming her bread, looking thoughtfully into the distance. "Yes, that does sound like an excellent plan. I'll check the times and see what's on." She leapt up wearing a small smile, enough for Richard to know he had done well.

"Can you turn the radio on while you're up? The paper is a soggy mess, can't read a bleeding word." Harriet obliged, pressing a button as she passed, crisp voices instantly filling the room.

" _… and that is why I am fighting for better funding for the public services that Sodor relies on, not backing the cuts that many of my colleagues are pushing for. I am morally opposed to the underfunding of services that work, though that does not mean I will allow money to go into just any old institution – there must be a model there that works for today, not when it was first drawn up."_

"Excellent answer as always, Margaret," Richard chuckled, shoving toast into his mouth. He and Mrs MacMillan were fond of each other even if they did not always see eye to eye. She was a firm supporter of what they did, and Richard knew from some of the issues his father went through that having a good politician on your side is important.

 _"Are there any institutions you specifically want to fix up, or are you going to be as generic as possible here?"_

Margaret's forced laugh echoed throughout the room, and Richard laughed as his wife sat back down. _"Oh, Peter, so cynical as always! There are plenty of areas I think need improvement. The health service, for one thing –"_

"There's a new superhero one on at midday, apparently it's quite good," Harriet murmured, and Richard nodded absentmindedly, jabbing his knife into the butter.

 _"What about the railways? There was another accident just last month with the tunnel collapsing."_

 _"Yes, that too. I do think there is a serious issue with how the railway is funded."_

There was a clang as Richard jerked forwards, flinging the knife, still wedged into the butter, across the room as he turned towards the radio. Harriet's screams briefly cut across the radio as the plastic tub crashed into a vase, but Richard was too focused on the interview to notice.

"… _money being spent on buying more and more ancient steam engines like this is all some private collection and not enough stopping our tunnels from collapsing?"_

 _"But the North Western Railway is privately owned – is there any way the government can interfere with which engines are brought?"_

 _"Oh, you know me, Peter. I have my ways."_

As Margaret's laugh echoed through the room again, silence fell over the Hatt's dining table. Richard felt like he had been punched in the stomach, and he sank into his chair, a dozen thoughts racing through his head. He clutched at his chest, his heart beating rapidly, and he stared absently at the upended vase for a few moments before he realised what he was looking at.

"Oh my… my dear, I am so… it's just, the radio – Margaret! _Margaret_!" He looked at his wife and Harriet glowered back as she placed her tablet down. She watched him as she picked up the vase, and kept an eye on him as she left the room. Richard looked back to the radio but he had missed the end of the interview, the chime of the morning bulletin now filling the room. He sat in silence as he listened to the headlines, the thundering rain louder than ever, wishing just once his father's warning hadn't come true.

* * *

Ten minutes. That was all the time Gordon had left to enjoy the relative shelter of the station. In ten minutes time, he would have to head out onto the Main Line with the slow train. It would be a solid two, possibly even three, hours before he would be under shelter again, and the blue engine was trying to savour these last few minutes before he had to enter the deluge once again.

Unfortunately, ignoring the storm wasn't as simple as he would have liked.

"This isn't the worst storm I've ever seen. It isn't even the worst storm I've had on this island."

"PAH!" Douglas whooshed, and Molly huffily looked towards him. "Lassie, I've from Scotland – if anyone here knows bad weather, it's me, and _this_ is bad weather."

"I'm not denying it's _bad_ , just that it's not the worst," Molly said simply.

"I have to agree with her," Bear chimed up from the far end of the station. "That winter a few years back was a nightmare; there was some pretty nasty weather there."

"Come on, Bear," Duck huffed beside him. "We aren't talking about snow here – if we are, you'd be right, but this is the worst rain."

"Thank you, Duck. This is the very definition of a storm if I have ever seen one, and I won't hear another word –"

"Don't you all have better things to do?" Gordon's voice boomed like thunder throughout the station, causing the other engines to look towards him. For a moment, the blue engine felt an old sense of pride; it was not often he got to grace Platform 1, usually reserved for the Express, and to be the centre of attention again was something that did not pass him by.

Not that the feeling was to last. "Well, well, well then, Gordon, do you have another topic of conversation in mind then?" Douglas said in his thick Scottish drawl. "What pearls of wisdom do you have locked away under that there dome of yours, eh?"

Gordon glowered at the Caledonian engine for a moment before rolling his eyes. "I'm not suggesting we talk about anything. We do not need to fill this silence – the rain is doing that enough already."

"We're just having a conversation," Molly interjected quietly.

Gordon tutted. "We are civilised engines. We should not have to bellow at each other from opposite ends of the station like common shunting engines." He spat the last few words out with a taste of finality, and looked away, trying to hide the smile in his eyes. There were no comebacks that time, and Gordon was pleased that he could relax in peace before venturing out into the storm. He had been kept awake the last few nights with the rain pounding the shed roof while the other engines tittered away about flooded tracks and washed out bridges. It had left him with a dreadful headache, and Gordon was dreading having to go out today with that weighing him down.

Yet his peace was not to last. "You know, we are only having this conversation because of Henry," Duck called out. "The original tunnel incident – so very _civilised_ , you must agree, Gordon – that storm must have been something, surely."

Gordon could tell he was being mocked, and glancing tentatively over, he could see a broad grin plastered across Duck's face. _Don't think I will take that bait, not from a silly little tank engine!_

"That was a very long time ago, Duck, I have far too many things to think about, I don't keep a catalogue of all the events of my life."

"So you're saying you don't quite have the memory for this?"

Gordon's eyes narrowed as he glanced at the tank engine. "What I am saying is that much more important things have happened to me over the years that I don't remember every little storm that has happened over the course of my life!"

"That explains things then," Duck said with a nod.

"Explains what?"

"Why you're so grumpy today. It's your age."

"Excuse me?"

"Did you not hear me properly? Your old, Gordon, there's nothing wrong with that."

Gordon gasped as sniggers trickled through the engines. "I am not old, thank you!"

"It's fine, Gordon, really!" Duck said, his face serious though there was laughter in his eyes. "I heard the way you were clanking and groaning as you pulled up to the station before. All this talk of past storms, it must be overwhelming for you, not being able to remember any of them anymore. No wonder you're so cross."

"How dare you!" Gordon spluttered, as the others cackled with laughter. "I am not old – Thomas, Toby, Edward, they are old engines, and – "

"Thomas is only a few years older than you are," Bear interjected.

"I know it's tough to hear, but you just need to face the facts," Duck said, his stoic face cracking as he struggled not to laugh. "We all get old eventually, and it's your time now. If you accept it, the sooner you can move on with your life… if a bit slower than you used to."

Gordon's eyes bulged with anger, and Duck began to laugh alongside everyone else. Their cackles filled the station, drowning out the rain and the chattering passengers swarming around him as it neared time for him to go.

" _How dare you_! I am not slow; I am still as fast as I was in my prime."

"Do you want to test that theory, Gordon?" Douglas' Scottish drawl broke through the laughter. "I'm leaving after you, we can always see who makes it to Crovan's Gate first."

"I'm taking the slow train, as you very well know."

"How fitting," Douglas added, and the laughter continued. Gordon spluttered as he tried to respond, but the shock had left him speechless. Before he could think straight, a sharp whistle cut through the noise followed by a distant thud as the guard's door slammed shut.

"Don't you have to go be Scottish somewhere else?" Gordon huffed as he felt his brakes slip off, and he slowly slid out of the station. The rain hit him like a brick wall, heavy droplets striking his face the second he had left the shelter behind, but Gordon no longer cared about the storm. The laughter followed him long after his coaches had left the platform, and he rolled bitterly towards the tunnel, like a once proud lion slinking off into the sunset.

* * *

The storm stretched across the whole island, and everyone was feeling the effects. Rex, Mike, Bert and the other small engines were stuck in their shed, their tracks washed away by mudslides. The Electric Lady sat cautiously at Abbey Station, watching the wires above her shake dangerously in the wind. Even at Barrow-in-Furness, Arianna had to tense her eyes against the rain as she prepared trains for the mainline engines.

Yet while everyone was wet, tired and uncomfortable, the storm was strongest along the coast. Normally when Arthur was waiting at Norramby, he could gaze across the ocean and see miles of water that stretched out to the horizon. Even on cloudy days, the sea was still majestic as it crashed against the pier, while the seaside town looked ripped from a postcard, neat houses jumbled together along the shore.

Today, that picturesque town had been swallowed whole by the relentless rage of the storm. Huge waves were smashing into the pier, exploding as they hit and sending water sloshing over the tracks. Boats bobbed violently off the shore, the waves threatening to either sink them or sending them crashing into the rocks

Arthur's journey from the sheds at Vicarstown had been difficult enough, tree branches and leaves flying across the lines threatening to hold him up, but that was a light drizzle compared to the harbour. It was a sodden wet nightmare, everything turned to shadow by the haze and workers running heads down trying to avoid being blown away. The normally pleasant sounds of hearty sailors and cranes at work that made Arthur feel jolly had disappeared, replaced by the howl of the wind and the thud of the rain pounding the earth.

"This isn't ideal, is it?" His driver shouted.

"No, not really," Arthur replied timidly, watching as another wave hit the port. Storms like this never went well, and there was no record in the world clean enough to calm weather like this.

 _It's just rain, I still have a job to do._ He didn't want to let anyone down, especially not the fishermen who had gone out in this weather to rescue nets and cages before the waves washed them away. He was part of a bigger system, and worrying about the storm wasn't going to help anyone.

"Ok Arthur, the trucks are ready for us," his driver yelled, his words nearly blown away by the wind. Trying to focus on the positives, Arthur reversed onto the right track before rolling forwards up to his train. The trucks usually leered and jeered at him at this point, but they were all silent as Arthur was coupled up. The only noise they made was involuntary, the wind making them all violently wobble, and Arthur could see he wasn't the only one afraid.

"It's going to be alright, there's nothing the wind can do to hurt us," he told the van in front.

The truck grunted. "You say that now, but wait till the tunnel collapses on us again."

"The tunnel has been fixed, the rain isn't going to affect it," Arthur said with a smile. Before the van could reply, a lone figure suddenly ran past them both and up to Arthur's cab.

"Just got a call from Ballahoo," the harbour master yelled. "A tree has fallen across the line. They are sending Harvey to clear it but it'll be a while. You're going to have to go to Crovan's Gate and switch Arthur around to the front."

Arthur wasn't sure how to take the news. He hadn't been comfortable about going backwards the whole way to Barrow-in-Furness, so was glad for the opportunity to change around. But this was the first he had heard of a tree being blown over during this storm: if one could be taken down, what would stop there being anymore?

"Told you," the van grumbled, smiling grimly. Arthur didn't respond, deciding there and then to channel all his energy into his task at hand and not worry about the storm. But as the guard's whistle sounded faintly in the distance, the tank engine watched an empty crate fly over the tracks and crash into the foot of a crane, and knew it was going to be a difficult road ahead.

* * *

The storm was as intense as Gordon had feared when he woke up that morning. Within seconds of leaving the station, he had been engulfed by all the worst things it had to offer: howling wind that sent rocks and sticks flying into him while threatening to throw him off the rails; rain that touched everything, falling so heavily that Gordon's lamp did nothing to illuminate the tracks ahead.

It was everything Gordon had hoped to avoid, but now that he was out here in the thick of it, the weather was the last thing on his mind.

While their laughter had long ago faded into the distance, it wasn't as easy for Gordon to forget what Duck and Douglas had said. Their insults echoed, following him down the line, and even the roar of the wind and the rattle of his coaches wasn't enough to deafen them.

However, Gordon's initial shock had quickly turned to anger. He wasn't speechless anymore and was tempted to stop the train and turn around to give them a piece of his mind. With no one around him to vent to, the rage simply burned away inside of him, fuelling him as he tore through the sheets of rain.

 _Old? BAH! What silly, reprehensible engines. How dare they treat me like that! Me, who brought the Queen to Sodor! Me, who hauled the Express for decades! Ingrates! I'll show those ignorant engines whose old._

He roared into his tunnel, the bricks whizzing by in a blur. _Could a tired old engine go this fast?_ He asked himself and laughed confidently.

It was only when he burst back into the open world that he left the other engines behind. Gordon was jolted out of his thoughts as the rain washed over him once again, getting into his mouth and eyes. He felt himself slowing, and for a second worried something was wrong, that Douglas would come past any minute and see him blindly snaking his way down the line.

Once his eyes were clear, though, Gordon could see the familiar shape of Knapford Station emerging from the haze. The platforms were empty except for the stationmaster hovering in his office doorway, but Gordon saw Clarabel staring grumpily at him as he pulled up alongside.

"Finally! I've been wondering where you had gotten to," Thomas yelled, struggling to be heard above the wind.

"Don't you start!" Gordon screeched to a halt, his wheels skidding worryingly against the slippery tracks. The second he stopped, doors banged open and passengers sprinted between the two trains, desperate to get inside before the storm washed them away.

Thomas looked incredulously at the tender engine. "What are you on about?"

Gordon looked angrily at the tank engine, but after a few seconds, he realised that Thomas hadn't been mocking him, and with a sigh, he looked away.

"Am I getting old, Thomas?"

"Well, yes, we all are."

"I know that!" Gordon huffed defensively. "But I always thought… I'm not as old, or, you know… Edward." He said his name like it was dirt in his mouth, and Gordon felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the rain.

Thomas pursed his lips. "Just because you aren't the same age as us doesn't mean you aren't _old_. If you weren't, you'd probably still be taking the Express."

"That had nothing to do with age, that was… that was… _convenience_ ," Gordon spluttered, but even he didn't sound convinced. "You don't know what you're on about, I can still take the Express as fast as I did in my prime!"

Thomas rolled his eyes as the guard's whistle sounded down the platform. "I don't know what you want me to say, Gordon. You don't normally come to me for advice."

"Advice? Bah! Don't be ridiculous!" Gordon said incredulously. "I am just venting!"

"Sure Gordon," Thomas said, smirking as he pulled away. "Enjoy the weather. Maybe it will wash your bad mood away."

Gordon snorted as the tank engine pulled away. His own guard's whistle sounded, and he took off with an angry jerk, the coaches grumbling as they bumped into each other.

 _I'm nothing like Thomas, I'm not as old as Edward. I am Gordon the Express Engine. I hauled that train for over eight decades – I am as fast now as I was then, and I will prove it!_

The rain battered him, the wind roared against his wheels, but Gordon shot out of the station like a rocket, his smile grim, his eyes narrowed, ready for his challenge.

* * *

Sitting in his car, surrounded by pools of water, his clothes soaking wet, Richard Hatt could only wonder what he was doing with his life.

He could've spent the day having a lovely time with his wife. After weeks of working overtime and weekends, Richard knew she had been looking forward to their weekend together. He hated how his job took up so much time, and as supportive as she was, he knew she did not like the toll it took on their marriage

However, instead of heading to the movies or spending the day cuddled up together on the couch, Richard had left her behind. He had seen her glowering at him from the front door as he drove away, and that image stuck with him as he sat in his saturated clothes, driving slowly through flooded streets and behind elderly drivers overcompensating for the weather.

He hadn't wanted to, but he had no choice. _How has it come to this,_ Richard thought, staring out at the storm struck street. He dreaded getting out of his car, not because the streets appeared flooded up to his shins, but because Margaret Macmillan was waiting for him in the café across the road.

Richard had never had a problem with Margaret before. She was nice enough, occasionally a little forced in her conversation like any politician trying to make a good impression, but they had never had a dispute before. Richard had even allowed the cell phone tower to be built at Wellsworth Station after she told him about the townspeople's complaints. The fact she was now openly criticising the railway was so out of the blue he thought he had been hit by a train.

 _There is an election coming up. If she builds momentum on this for her campaign, this could delay the whole centenary celebrations._

His dreams of a relaxed weekend were ruined, and there was nothing he could do about it. It was fine for her to insist they meet today when he called her assistant shortly after the interview. It wasn't her concern that Richard's first day off in weeks had ended before it had even begun. She would get what she wanted, and he would have to sit there and grin and bear it for the sake of the railway.

"You never warned me about this part of the job, Dad." Richard sighed and rested his head on the steering wheel, bracing himself, questioning everything in the space of a few seconds. What was she plotting? Why did it have to be today? Was this job really worth it?

Begrudgingly, he swung open his door, ready to face the music. The storm greeted him instantly, the wind trying to close the door, the rain rushing in and soaking his barely dried pants. As Richard swore and tried to step outside, he had the electric chirp of his mobile. "Bloody hell!" He cried, and collapsed back into his seat, letting the door slam shut with a deafening thud. Fumbling about in the back seat, he finally grabbed his mobile, hitting the green button just before it went to voicemail.

"Yes?" He barked, knowing that this would only be worse news. "What do you mean – Gordon's done _what_?"

* * *

 _Must go faster, must go faster, can go faster, can go faster, must go faster, can go faster…_

His wheels ached. As he roared down the tracks, Gordon felt a pain in his side rods: they were tight, he could feel them seizing up, complaining about the pressure he was putting on them. But that wasn't enough to stop him. He couldn't fail now, he wouldn't let himself: Gordon had started this, and he was damn sure going to finish it.

 _Come on, come on, come on, COME ON!_

The blue engine had only been able to exert himself in brief bursts of speed, the distances between stations too short for him to have a proper run. By the time he had gotten a good momentum going, he would have to stop again, coaches banging into each other as sodden passengers sprinted to the train.

Thankfully, he had just passed through Killdane and now had nothing by open track before here and Crovan's Gate. He had set out from the station with a gleeful roar and was rocketing down the tracks with no one and nothing to stop him. There was no sign of Douglas anywhere – there was no sign of anything, not with the rain still bucketing down – and Gordon felt on top of the world.

 _Who's old and slow now?_ He chuckled deeply. He was enjoying himself more than he had expected. It all felt familiar, racing down the tracks with the wind blowing against him, his coaches rattling cheerfully behind him, the whole countryside a blur. When he hauled the Express, Gordon had often felt like the only engine on the island, the rest of the world disappearing so it was just him, his train and the tracks ahead, and it was like that now.

Surprisingly, he was glad for the rain now as well. It was easy to pretend things were how they had been with nothing else in sight, and Gordon kept racing, ignoring the pain in his axles and the breathless feeling he had felt since climbing his own hill. Right now, he was the fastest engine on Sodor, and there was nothing to take that away from him.

 _I am the fastest, I am the fastest, I am the fastest…_

If only he had been going slower than the accident could have been avoided.

When Arthur arrived at Crovan's Gate, the yard was deserted. There were pools of water in the sidings, and the wind was blowing rubbish and sticks across the tracks, but otherwise it seemed empty. No one at the sheds, the little engines nowhere in sight. It was unsettling, ominous, but Arthur was mostly relieved.

Ever since he had left the harbour, he had not been able to block out the tiny voice worrying about something going wrong. It had been a smooth run down the branch line, but going backwards you had no idea what was waiting for you ahead, and he had expected to run straight into a busy yard thrown into chaos by the storm.

 _Looks like there was nothing to worry about at all, was there?_ Arthur felt foolish. As he came to a stop in the middle of the yard, he couldn't help but laugh at his fears. He had learnt over the years that nothing went wrong unless you expected it to go wrong; his fears and overly cautious movements was probably the only thing threatening his train.

"Switching around to the front?" The stationmaster yelled. "Let's get a move on then, Gordon and Douglas should be here soon."

"Right away!" Arthur said with a short whistle. He was quickly uncoupled and he reversed onto the next line, everything set for a quick turnaround.

Suddenly, a whistle, deep and endless, echoed through the yard. The stationmaster turned, startled; it was difficult to see through the rain, but he could see something big and blue racing towards them.

"He isn't supposed to be here yet," the stationmaster mumbled, and he turned to a porter. "Make sure the points are set to the right track." He watched as Gordon became clearer through the haze, wondering just why the big engine was moving so quickly.

Arthur was surprised as well, but he had his own train to deal with. Ignored his renewed concerns, he carried on with his job, rolling down the track alongside his train towards the next set of points. If everything went according to plan, he would be coupled up and ready to leave before Gordon had even arrived at the station.

Unfortunately, things didn't go that way.

Gordon's crew had been worried about his increasing speed, and his driver knew they would need to apply the brakes early to slow him down before they reached the station. However, as he peered out of the cab to check their progress, he was stunned to realise they were already at Crovan's, the curtain of rain around them having confused his sense of direction.

"Bugger," he hissed. "He's going too fast!" He yelled to the fireman, and lunged forwards, slamming the brakes on.

Gordon winced as his wheels seized up, a sharp pain spreading across his axles. However, he wasn't slowing down: the tracks were coated in water, and though his wheels were still, the big engine slid across the slippery tracks, momentum and the weight of his full coaches pushing him onwards.

He screeched into the yard as Arthur backed down onto his train. He froze at the sound of the commotion behind him, and was filled with a sense of dread – and this time, he knew he was right.

One second, Gordon was eyeing a clear stretch of track ahead of him, relieved to have averted disaster. The next, he was swerving suddenly, his wheels juttering over the tracks, and a stunned van was coming right for him.

With a booming crash, the big engine ploughed into Arthur's train. The first five vans were obliterated upon impact, causing an explosion of fish to shower the platforms. Arthur grunted as he shoved forwards, the brake van breaking as it was sandwiched between the two weights. The stationmaster and porters fled as fish, ice and wood rained down on them, landing with heavy splashes in the dozens of puddles surrounding the engines.

The accident was over as quickly as it had happened. Dazed and confused, Gordon opened his eyes to find crates of fish wedged into his face. He had no idea what had happened, but he had been here enough times to know it was likely his fault. The sound of his pounding wheels had long since died away, replaced by an unnatural silence punctuated only by the howling wind, the falling fish, and the distant sound of a certain Scottish engine coming down the line…

* * *

The Fat Controller sighed as he made his way across the Crovan's Gate yard. He had been drenched again within seconds of stepping out of his car, and it was made no better by the number of puddles he had to waddle through to get to the scene of the disaster.

"I should've known something like this would happen," he mumbled to himself. A porter suddenly appeared with an umbrella, but Richard just gave him a withering look and carried on: after the day he had had, a bit more rain was the least of his worries.

He had gotten here as quickly as the weather had allowed, but the clean-up operation was nearly done. Wilson and Rocky had arrived back from clearing trees and had quickly gotten to work lifting Gordon back onto the track. The blue engine sat gingerly in a siding, all alone except for a few melting kipper draped over his buffers. Arthur had taken the remaining trucks away to finish his job, while a spare diesel from the Mainland had taken the coaches.

"Leave the fish and the wood and cordon off these lines, they can be cleared up when the rain lets up," Richard yelled at the workers. Many of them nodded formally, but he could see the relief in their eyes that they would soon be out of the rain. Smirking despite himself, the controller made his way over to Gordon.

"Unharmed, I see." The blue engine looked up, wearing an expression of repressed embarrassment, a look made more tragic by the amount of rain pelting the tender engine.

"Thankfully so, sir," he replied wearily.

"Very good, though I'll leave that to the workmen to confirm." Richard paused, his eyes flickering between Gordon and the crash site. "Is there a reason you were going so fast with the _slow_ train? I'd expect such an experienced engine to know to take care in such treacherous conditions as this."

Gordon looked more embarrassed and repressed than he had before and he looked away from the Fat Controller as he mumbled out his reason. "I wanted to see if I still could."

"What on earth do you mean?"

Gordon sighed. "The other engines were calling me slow. I wanted to prove that I wasn't, to them… and for myself."

It took a moment for Richard to process that before sighing himself. "Gordon, that is utterly ridiculous! Of course you are still fast, everyone knows that. Is this about me taking you off the Express? You must know that was to make it a smoother trip, it had nothing to do with you or your age."

"I know sir, I've accepted that, but… it's quite a change, getting old," the blue engine murmured, smiling sheepishly, and Richard laughed.

"Isn't it just?" He said, shaking his head. "You must know that none of that is an excuse for what happened here today, but I do accept it. It'll be slow trains for the rest of the month once you are back in service – hopefully the slower pace will help you adjust?"

"Yes sir, of course. I am dreadfully sorry, sir. I hope I haven't caused much bother." The smile disappeared from Richard's face, Gordon's words reigniting the worries that had harangued him all the way here. He looked over at the crash site – the broken wood piled on the platform; a torn apart truck hovering in the air as Rocky lifted it up. He surveyed the site not as a railway manager, but as someone with an axe looming over his head, clutched in the hands of one particular politician, wondering just what she would make of this.

"That's just the thing, Gordon, I really don't know how much bother we are in."

* * *

The storm had begun to calm down when Gordon finally headed home the next day. The wind wasn't trying as hard to blow him off the rails, but the big engine did feel immensely relieved as he rolled into the cover of the Tidmouth Station roof, able to leave the rain behind once more.

The station was empty except for Duck, sitting with a childish grin at the opposite end. "Hello old timer, back already? Would've thought you'd be heading to the scrap heap by now."

"No, no, Montague, not just yet," Gordon replied with a smirk. "How about you – enjoy the rest of the storm? Your kind enjoys splashing about in puddles, don't they?"

Duck rolled his eyes as he sarcastically laughed. "Good one, Gordon," he groaned. There was a tense silence for a few moments, the memories of their last meeting clear to both engines. "Look, I'm sorry for teasing you the other day. I wouldn't have if I had known you would act like such a fool afterwards."

"There's no need to apologise, Duck," Gordon replied. "You and Douglas only put into words the thoughts I've been dwelling on for some time." He paused, thinking back on his night alone at the Works, all the things he had dwelled on as the rain echoed around him.

"I've spent so many years teasing Edward for being old; it was just a bit shocking to imagine myself in the same position. I had to prove that I'm not there yet, not just to you all but for myself as well."

"Ah, I see. Well, it probably serves you right then, doesn't it?"

"Probably so. I'll have to act my age now."

Duck smirked. "I'm glad the crash knocked some sense into you. Ploughing into fish vans will do that to anyone, let me tell you."

"That's the thing. It wasn't the crash that hurt; it was my axles after going so fast!" Gordon laughed, his booming chuckle echoing around the station. "If I hadn't crashed, I probably would've fallen apart before I reached Vicarstown!"

Duck snorted and joined in with the laughter, almost drowning out the sound of his guard's whistle. "You really are becoming a silly old fool, aren't you? We'll have to lock you up if you keep up like that."

"Don't worry, there's no chance of that happening again. Farewell," Gordon boomed, and he carried on back to the sheds as Duck set off with his train. He could see BoCo coupling up to a line of tankers in the yard and didn't envy him for having to go out in this weather. _You never know what's waiting for you around the corner in these sorts of storms…_

He wasn't ready for old age yet, but Gordon wanted to remain in one piece if he was to have any enjoyment in his final days. He was the last Doncaster around, he couldn't end the legacy of his brothers by upending himself in a ditch going too fast. It was slow and steady from here on out, and that was fine by Gordon – just as long as everyone remembered how fast he had gone.

 _A slow engine would never have caused that much chaos,_ Gordon thought as he rolled into the sheds, a smug smile crossing his face. _That might not exactly glamorous, but those silly little engines can't deny I went out with a bang._


	7. Lesser the Knowledge

**Lesser the Knowledge**

 _April 2015_

James couldn't help but look smug. The broad, knowing smile he wore as he sat at Wellsworth Station was both natural and superficial at the same time, almost a performance for the other engines that passed. He generally looked smug most days, but today, he hoped his smugness would stand out so someone would ask him about it.

It was a look Edward knew all too well. As he pulled into the station with his own passengers, he caught James looking eagerly at him, and struggled not to laugh: his desire for attention was so obvious it was as bright as his paint.

 _Might as well throw the poor thing a bone, I guess_ , he thought smiling. "Something up, James?"

"Oh, hello Edward, didn't notice you there," James replied airily, glancing away in such a way that everyone noticed. "How are you today?"

Edward caught Delphine shunting in the yard and rolled his eyes at her, earning a smirk back. "I'm fine James, how about you?"

" _Well_ , I did just get some very exciting news," the red engine replied, beaming. "I am off to the Mainland tomorrow if you can believe it! I've been asked to take a train of enthusiasts down the old Lancashire and York Railway with another engine."

"That is very exciting James, congratulations. Are you doing it alone, or –"

"Yes, it is _very_ exciting. I will probably be the most glamorous engine those enthusiasts have ever seen!" James interrupted, his eyes glistening as he spoke. "I don't think they will have ever been pulled by an engine with as shiny paint as myself. I can imagine them talking about this for years to come!"

"Yes, I'm sure," Edward replied wearily.

His tone did not go unnoticed, and James' smile suddenly turned sour. "What about _you_ , Edward, have you pulled an enthusiasts train at all lately?"

"Not recently, no."

"I didn't think so. On these sorts of trips, they tend to prefer engines that aren't going to fall apart before they reach their destination!" James huffed before smiling at his own joke. Edward was used to jibes like that and simply ignored him, even though the words stung a little.

Almost simultaneously, both guards sounded their whistles – one for James to carry on to Crovan's, while Edward was taking passengers on to Tidmouth.

"See you later, Edward – I'll make sure to tell you _all_ about it when I'm back!"

"Have fun with the diesels, James," Edward replied. He caught a glimpse of James' sour face as he pulled away, and Edward chuckled as he rolled down the Main Line.

* * *

There was a commotion as James arrived at Crovan's Gate the next morning. A grey haired woman was standing on one of the platforms, surrounded by people with cameras and large placards. The woman was gesturing angrily towards the middle of the yard, vaguely where Gordon had crashed into the goods train last week. James couldn't hear what she was saying over the roar of those around her, but the people in the crowd all seemed to be in agreement with whatever was going on.

"Who is that woman? She looks familiar."

"That's our local politician," James' driver replied unenthusiastically.

James knew how he felt: he really didn't care about politicians either, unless they wanted to take a photo with him. He ignored the crowd as he crossed the yard, his mind on far more important things than moody politicians. He was expected on the Mainland in a few hours, and James needed to look spic and span for when he took the first of his enthusiast trains that evening.

The works were always bustling and noisy, but as James came to a stop near the entrance, it seemed crazier than normal. Workers were rushing around frenetically, paying James no attention as they rushed by with toolkits and various engine parts. Sparks flew from behind a boiler hanging from the ceiling, one of the assortment of engine parts scattered around the place. James frowned as he saw patches of oil and green paint pooling together near the tracks.

After a few minutes of going ignored, the foreman suddenly appeared. "Hello James, how are you today?" He said, wiping his hands as he approached the red engine.

James looked at him with disdain, hoping he didn't plan on touching him with those greasy fingers. "Fine thank you, sir. I have just come for my wash down – got to be on the Mainland soon!" He added, hoping it would encourage them to start before something ruined his paint.

"Wash down? What are you on about?"

"What are _you_ on about?" James replied, smirking. What sort of silly workman didn't know what a wash down was?

His driver appeared beside him, looking confused as well. "Is there something wrong? I left a message at Tidmouth to alert you guys."

"We must not have gotten it," the foreman replied, shrugging. "Scheduling isn't the problem though. Haven't you been paying attention to the news?"

"I live alone, mate!" James' driver laughed. "When I get home, I want to relax, not depress myself with whatever dreadful things happening around the world."

"Well, if you had been, you'd know that there is a water shortage on at the moment. There was a landslide at the reservoir on Culdee Fell during the storm, there's too much silt in the water supply. We have to preserve water so the system can cope with the excess dirt."

James looked between the two men, reality slowing dawning on him. "Are you saying… that I have to go to the Mainland… I have to pull enthusiasts… without a _wash down_?"

"Yes James, that's exactly what I'm saying."

James fell silent. He couldn't comprehend what he was hearing. This was his worst nightmare come true. He down at his buffer beam, the specks of coal dust and a drop of fitter's oil shining to him as brightly as neon lights.

"B-b-b-but I need a wash down. Look at me, I'm filthy! I can't pull coaches looking like this!"

"I am sorry James, but wouldn't you rather there be enough clean water so you can fill your tanks without getting sick?"

"Of course not! I'd rather have clogged pipes then have to face enthusiasts looking like some common shunting engine!" James couldn't believe how inconsiderate the foreman was behaving. "Can't they just use some of the dirty water to clean me?"

"That's not how it works!" The foreman said, eyes narrowing. "If you don't mind Steve, we really need to get back to working on the new engine."

"Of course – sorry about this Arnie." James' driver shook hands with the foreman and turned back towards the cab.

"What are you doing? Don't just give up!" James screeched, his voice raising several octaves higher than normal. "I need to be clean!"

"James, you are making a scene. I know this is disappointing, but there is nothing we can do."

James whooshed steam furiously. "Making a scene? I'll show you a scene!" And without hesitation, he began to whistle. The workmen all stopped what they were doing to cover their eyes as a high pitched shriek resonated around them. James' face was beginning to match his paint under the strain of maintaining the amount of pressure needed, but he didn't care: he had a point to prove, and he would not stop until he got what he wanted.

After several minutes, during which time both his driver and fireman tried to reason with him while attempting to stop the whistle, they gave up, time slipping away. They reversed James out of the shed, his whistling briefly silencing Margaret Macmillan's protest, and a disgruntled porter switched the points so they could take him down the main line.

James tried to fight back, but couldn't maintain his whistling and apply his brakes at the same time. Dejectedly, he gave up, settling instead with pulling the grumpiest face he could manage, and joylessly made his way to the Mainland.

* * *

James had known that as soon as he got back to Sodor, the Fat Controller would want to speak with him, he had prepared himself for that fate. However, he had expected to at least have the journey to Tidmouth to think about how he would defend himself.

What he hadn't expected was to arrive at Vicarstown, his wheels barely back on Sudrian soil, and find his owner standing on the platform, withering look visible from metres down the line. James was stunned but tried not to let his surprise show. Instead, he tried to look natural as he pulled into the station, as though this was an innocent surprise.

"Hello sir, is something wrong?" James asked cautiously and knew right away that it was the wrong thing to say.

"Don't try and pull that nonsense with me!" The Fat Controller boomed, his voice echoing throughout the empty station. "You have arrived home from an enthusiast's job two days early, of course something is wrong! Would you care to explain your side of things, or shall we skip the excuses and jump straight to the punishment?"

James winced under the verbal assault, but he was ready enough and knew his version of events stacked up. Ignoring the clear exasperation on the Fat Controller's face, James began his story.

In his opinion, James did not think it was his fault that he had been in a bad mood. He could not be blamed for the water shortage and the worker's refusal to give him a wash down. His mood had come from a place of concern for how it would reflect on the railway, sending a dirty engine to pull such a special enthusiasts train.

Admittedly, James couldn't say for certain that the coaches had been talking about him, but he felt strongly that was the case; why else would have they all been staring at him, twittering quietly as he went past? And why else would the other engine on the train have mentioned James' paint if not to make fun of him? It may not have been the strongest of evidence, and perhaps James shouldn't have bumped the coaches in revenge or refused to pull his weight when going up the hill, but what would it have said about Sodor if the Mainland engines thought they could mock them and get away with it?

"- obviously, this all could have been avoided if I had had a proper wash down, but really sir, what can we do about it now?"

"ENOUGH!"

James fell silent. It had been a long time since he had seen the Fat Controller this angry: his face had gone so red that if he had taken off the top hat he could have blended in with James' paintwork. The tender engine knew his defence hadn't worked, and with a sigh, he braced himself for his punishment.

The Fat Controller paused momentarily, taking a deep breath and regaining his cool before carrying on. "Your excuses won't work on me, James. I heard about the stunt you pulled at the works, right outside Margaret's protest; you were in a foul mood well before you got to the railway. I don't see how you are 'defending Sodor' when you go over there and glower at the passengers and treat the coaches like common coal trucks! There are passengers demanding refunds, for goodness sake!

"You acted selfishly because you value your appearance more than the importance of a hard day's work. It may surprise you to learn this, James, but no one cares what an engine looks like as long as it shows up on time and gets the passengers there in one piece. If you don't value your passengers, then maybe you shouldn't take any coaches for the next few days."

James gasped. "Are you sending me to the shed?"

"No, James, that isn't really a punishment, is it? You don't need a rest but I think BoCo and Bear might like one, so for the next few days you can relieve them of their goods trains. Perhaps the long runs between Tidmouth Harbour and Barrow will give you plenty of time to think about what type of engine you really want to be. Do you have anything else to say?"

The idea of pulling trucks revolted James, but if he said anything now, it would only make matters worse. Instead, he stared sheepishly down at his buffers in total silence.

"Excellent, you can get to work tonight." The Fat Controller smiled and tipped his hat at James' crew before turning to go, but paused at the last moment. "Oh, and James – don't think you'll be getting a wash down anytime soon. I am sure all the coal dust and fuel will look _wonderful_ with your paint."

* * *

James had never spent the night in Barrow before, and after a few hours waiting there, he hoped he would never have to again.

"How do you live here?" He said with a shiver as another burst of sea wind blew through the yard.

Arianna glanced back at him with a raised eyebrow. "Comfortably, actually. Why, is there something wrong?"

"It smells like ocean for one thing." Arianna laughed at this, and James glowered back at her. "Plus it is so dirty. Is it always like this on the Mainland?"

"Well, the siding I sat in for nearly a decade waiting to be restored was a bit grubby, but hey, that's just one experience."

James felt a moment of shame, but the feeling passed as the wind tickled his axles, making him jolt backwards in discomfort. "Good lord, when is that diesel getting here?"

"Will you be quiet?" Arianna snapped. "BoCo is never this noisy."

"BoCo's too boring to make any noise," James fired back. The purple tank engine sighed and looked away, and James grinned triumphantly.

It was a minor win, but it was the only one he'd had today. After his crew had taken a few minutes to freshen up, James had to head back the way he'd come and park himself in a siding at Barrow, waiting for the Mainland diesel to arrive with the tankers he'd have to take back to Sodor.

A half hour wait quickly stretched out to hours. James wasn't sure what the delay was, and he didn't care: he was more concerned about all the diesels coming past with passenger trains, staring at him as if he was a particularly interesting museum exhibit. The red engine was more aware than ever how filthy he was, and he had to look away as they passed, not wanting them to see his shame.

It didn't help that he was next to a long line of empty tankers that the diesel was picking up when he arrived. James could see congealed streaks of fuel running down the sides of the trucks, and every time he felt a gust of wind, he expected splotches to blow onto him, tainting his paint further.

James took some relief in the fact it was now night and his filthy paint would be hidden in the dark, but it had brought on a new range of problems. He was parked with his tender to the station so he had no light to see by, only the crescent moon's weak glow reflected off the ocean and the small yellow pool created by Arianna's lamp. Every clang and bang in the distance sounded strange and unfamiliar, and James wished he was still with the enthusiasts; giggling coaches and condescending engines were far better than this torture.

His fear must have shown on his face, as he could see Arianna watching him with a superior smirk. "What do you want?"

"Scared of the dark, are you?" The tank engine purred. "Funny, from what I've heard of you, I would've thought you were far too proud for that."

"I'm not afraid of the dark! I just don't like being on the Mainland."

"Why, do you think they still have diesels hunting for steam engines? That hasn't happened for decades if it even happened at all."

"What do you mean, of course it happened!" James said incredulously. "We have an engine, Oliver, who escaped from scrap and had to hide –"

James fell silent. At the exact moment, the roar of a diesel sounded somewhere in the dark. His eyes flickered all around, trying to see where the noise was coming from, aware only that it was getting closer and closer.

"Careful James, the engine snatchers are coming for you!"

"That's not funny," James huffed as Arianna cackled. Suddenly, he saw a pinprick of light appear in the distance, and James tensed up. It could be the diesel he was waiting for, but there were no trucks rattling behind, only the unhealthy grumble of their engine, a guttural and pained sound that clearly didn't belong to a diesel in the proper condition.

Beside him, Arianna fell silent, her face scrunching up in confusion. "That can't be the right diesel – whatever it is, it should not be on the tracks let alone pulling fuel tankers."

"I told you!" James hissed. He didn't want to speak up in case the diesel heard and decided to come for him. However, as the headlights got clearer and closer, James realised the engine wasn't coming towards him at all. "It's heading to Sodor!"

"Maybe it's a new engine?"

"Does that sound like a _new_ engine to you?" James watched the diesel's headlights until they had moved out of sight, leaving only the sound of their spluttering engine echoing throughout the yard. He and Arianna looked at each other, but neither of said anything, lost in curiosity and confusion to put it into words. James forgot about his paint and the long wait; by the time the tanker train finally arrived, he obediently followed his driver in silence, wondering what exactly he had just witnessed.

* * *

"My, my James, you look _filthy_. Looks like you could really use a wash down."

Henry's laugh resonated from every corner of the station, but James was too tired to care. He slinked slowly into Tidmouth, his wheels protesting with every metre he moved. He glowered at the green engine as he came to a stop alongside, but sighed and let the jibe slide, too tired and distracted to care.

"Have you seen the Fat Controller?"

"No, not recently," Henry said with a slight huff, clearly disappointed by James' reaction. "I am sure he is here but I imagine he is avoiding them." The two engines looked to the back of the station, where a crowd was gathered around the bust of the famous author.

James wasn't sure why they were there, but he was pleased they were the only people around. He knew his paint really was dirty, the smell of fish hanging over him after delivering the trucks to the harbour, and the fewer people who saw him the better. Thankfully, the crowd seemed far too focused on chanting something to notice James, and all eyes in the station were focused on them.

"I think I saw that group at the Works the other day."

"They've been going around the railway protesting," Henry explained. "I saw them at Wellsworth yesterday; they shouted at me when I pulled up and they blocked my passengers from getting on."

James frowned, not sure what to make of the situation. It would have to wait though, as he had more important matters on his mind.

"You haven't seen any new diesels around lately, have you?" He asked Henry.

The green engine raised an eyebrow in response. "You mean Delphine?"

"No, no, not her, I mean new as in arrived today."

"Today? I left the sheds twenty minutes ago – unless they were disguised as Donald, then no, I've seen no one." A smile appeared on Henry's face again. "Why, did a diesel spook you on the Other Railway? I thought you got over this irrational fear of them years ago."

" _I'm not afraid_!" James hissed, but Henry only laughed harder. A guard's whistle sounded, the sharp sound briefly cutting over the protestors chant, and James spluttered as Henry blew steam in his face.

"There you go, that might clean some dirt off for you!" And Henry chortled all the way out of the station, leaving James to seethe. He was so frustrated he didn't notice Emily pulling up on the other side of the platform, ignoring her friendly whistle.

 _I am not being irrational; I heard it, Arianna heard it, we saw it coming here. There is a diesel here, and the Fat Controller needs to know!_

James was about to ask his crew to take him back to the shed when a groan sounded nearby. He looked around and saw The Fat Controller hovering in the doorway leading to his office, mumbling to his assistants.

"Sir, sir!" James cried. His shout echoed and he heard the chant quieten down, but he was too energised to notice. "Sir, I have something important to tell you! Last night I heard this spluttering diesel and –"

"I don't have time for your nonsense, James; can't you see I'm busy?" The Fat Controller snapped. He turned and walked away before James could say another word, the placard-waving crowd hot on his heels.

James was crushed. He was filthy, he was tired, and now he couldn't even get the Fat Controller to pay attention to him for five minutes. He could try telling the other engines, but he could easily guess how they would react after the way Henry had laughed. He was a joke, a paint obsessed clown, and no matter how serious, anything he said or did in the next week would be held alongside that.

Dejected, James was about to head back to the sheds when a soft Scottish accent piped up over the buzz of the protestors. "A spluttering diesel, you say? We must have heard the same one."

James jumped; he hadn't noticed Emily pull up, and for a moment his eyes darted around before settling on her, wondering if he was imagining voices in his fatigued state. "You heard the diesel as well?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure I did," Emily said, her face quizzical. "Something woke me up last night at any rate. A lot of trains come past our shed and normally I can sleep through anything, but this diesel made such a racket, it sounded unhealthy like something was –"

"Something wrong with it, yes, yes!" James was so excited he whistled with glee. "I knew I was right – Arianna heard it as well, and we thought it was heading to Sodor but we weren't sure."

"I can't be certain it was the same noise, but something definitely came past my shed last night, that's for certain." Emily paused there, frowning. "I don't know where it went afterwards, though."

"But Vicarstown was deserted before they reopened the station – there are so many sidings around there it could have hidden."

"Are you suggesting we go looking for it?"

James laughed and flashed his widest grin at Emily. "Yes, Emily, that's exactly what we need to do."

* * *

All was quiet as dusk settled over the Vicarstown yard. Construction work on the station had ended for the day, and while some passenger trains would carry on into the night, none would disturb the peace of the yard. James could remember how busy it had been when he had started on Sodor, the hub around which the whole island seemed to spin; now, unwanted trucks rotted in sidings while the turntable creaked as it battled rust and grime to operate.

The darker it got the more abandoned and disturbed the yard became, but James was too excited to pay much attention to twisted shadows covering the tracks. He felt like he was on a grand adventure, and all the worry he had felt that morning had melted away: he had a job to do now, one that would the others take him seriously again, and he wasn't going to rest until it was done.

"I don't know what you think you'll find here."

James glanced grumpily at Arthur. "The diesel, that's what I am going to find!"

"That is not what I meant," Arthur replied as he rolled backwards into the shed. "I mean, yes, there are some sidings that haven't been cleared yet, but I think we would have all heard the diesel if they came cluttering through the yard."

"Emily heard it though," James replied defensively, looking across at his comrade, and was dismayed by her enthusiasm.

"I said I heard it, I didn't say how close. It could have gone through the station or come completely past the yard. It might be hiding on the Norramby line?"

"I would have seen it," Murdoch interjected quietly, as though unwilling to get involved in the discussion.

James huffed and glowered between the various engines. This wasn't what he needed. It had been hard enough convincing his crew to come here, and they might not stay on board if the other engines didn't help out.

Emily seemed to see his frustration and smiled gently at him. "I am still going to help you, don't worry, it's just… Arthur could be right; we have no idea where the engine is, we might be looking in the entirely wrong spot."

The words had barely left her mouth when something suddenly rumbled behind them. The four engines all jumped and looked at each other. James was terrified for a moment before he began smiling. _This could be easier than expected,_ he thought, and started down the line, waiting for the diesel to emerge and admit defeat.

His joy passed the second the rumbling figure moved into the light of the sheds. "What are you doing here?"

Arianna raised an eyebrow as she slid to a stop. "A diesel broke down at Barrow so I offered to bring the trucks over rather than wait for one of you lazy lot to get there."

"That's not one of your jobs," James grunted, but then the truth dawned on him. "You want to find the diesel as well, don't you?"

"Pretty much," Arianna replied with a cheeky grin. "As much as it pains me to admit it, you were right last night; it is bloody boring being stuck in that yard all day. That diesel is all I could think about today, and I'm not going to sit and wait for someone to bring the gossip to me. So, have you had any luck?" She added as she shunted the trucks away.

"None. We were just about to start looking through the sidings."

Arianna shook her buffers. "No point. I kept my eyes peeled as I came past and I couldn't see anything that resembled a diesel. Sorry gang, but you'll need to look somewhere else."

James didn't respond, letting that sink in. What were they meant to do now? There was no way they could search the whole island on their own. If they couldn't find the diesel, he would be nothing but the foolish engine that let dirty paint get in the way of a special train. The Fat Controller would stay mad at him, the other engines would continue to laugh at him, and his paint would only get dirtier and dirtier.

James could feel the other engines watching him, but he refused to meet their eyes, disappointment weighing on him once again. If he could he would simply roll out of the yard and forget about it all, he would.

"What are all these engines doing here? I am not sharing my shed with them!"

James looked up as a green tender engine appeared, reversing towards the shed. Norramby Hall was glowering at him and Arianna with great suspicion.

"Don't you start Robert," Emily sighed. "We are trying to find that diesel we heard last night and we've hit… we've hit a setback."

James perked up. "You heard it too?"

"Of course, who wouldn't have?" Robert scoffed. "There I was sleeping peacefully, and suddenly some diesel comes clanking and clanging past the shed with the most dreadful engine I have ever heard. If you find the engine, drag them off to the works and tell them to put a silencer on that thing!"

"I'll make sure to do that if we do actually find it," James responded bitterly, "but we don't really have that many places to look."

"What about the new line?" Murdoch offered.

"Which one, there are a dozen!" Emily sighed.

"The new northern branch line, it could have gone there. I was meant to take trucks there today but they still haven't cleared a landslide that happened during the storm last week. They've had to stop work while the engineers inspect it."

"Murdoch, that's brilliant, why didn't you say anything before?" Emily said.

Murdoch looked away sheepishly. "Oh, I didn't want to cause a fuss, it's a silly idea, really, I'm sure I'm wrong –"

"Nonsense, this is the break we've been looking for! Shall we head there now, James – James?" Emily looked down the track, the red engine's tender already disappearing into the distance, Arianna in close pursuit. With a joyous sigh, Emily set off after him.

James raced through the yard with such speed you'd think he was being chased. The sound of his wheels pounding the rails echoed through the empty sidings, but James didn't notice the racket he was making, his attention focused on getting to the new line and proving himself.

Within a minute he had left the yard and was roaring past the station. The new line jutted off of the main line, a sharp turn heading along the previously untapped coastline. If it was any other situation, James might have stopped to savour the new sights; the untapped fields, the clusters of houses dotting the seaside, the shimmering darkness of the ocean stretched out alongside him. Yet this was no ordinary situation, and there was no time to acknowledge Sodor's beauty.

"How far until we hit the landslide?" He yelled into the dark.

"How would I know?" Arianna shouted back, and James tutted. "Just pay attention and try not to drive into it."

"Helpful!" James huffed. He stared at the track ahead, but the beam of his lamp only went so far, and everything outside of its glow was indistinguishable in the rapidly fading light. James didn't let it stop him but kept his mind on his brakes, ready to apply them when needed.

Suddenly, something bright and unnatural leapt out from the darkness. James gasped as he smacked into an orange warning sign, the reflective metal hitting him on the nose before being flung off into the night. He looked at the track and saw dirt was starting to pile up on the outskirts of the yellow glow guiding him onwards. Without a moment's hesitation, James slammed his brakes on, just as a face began to emerge in the distance.

"STOP, PLEASE!"

James screeched to a stop, hitting his brakes with such force his tender slammed into him, sending a metallic shudder through his body. As he skidded to a long, painful stop, he felt a second, larger thump as Arianna hit his buffers, pushing him further down the line. A boxy shape was caught in the light of his lamp, and James tensed, preparing himself for impact.

He opened his eyes a few seconds later, finally at a stop, and found a frightened, grime covered face staring nervously back at him mere centimetres from his own.

James struggled to contain his excitement. He had found the diesel! The feeling didn't last long though: as he stared at the perplexed engine, the more confused James felt. What was he meant to do now?

"Hello," he said finally, looking around as though the words would come to him in the night.

"Hello," the diesel replied, his voice soft and quiet but with a touch of weariness behind it. While his crew approached the diesel's, James tried to get a better look at the engine. From this distance, he could only see a hint of his maroon paintwork, but it was clear this definitely was the right engine; his buffers were coated in rust and oil splotches, there were black marks that covered his face and windows, and the pungent smell of fuel hung in the air.

"I must say, you are quite filthy," James said before he could stop himself.

"Speak for yourself!" The diesel fired back. James was taken aback by the insult, but almost instantly he began giggling. The diesel's surprise turned into a smirk, and soon both engines were laughing loudly and shamelessly into the night.

* * *

Word reached the Fat Controller about the discovery just in time for him to catch the 6:17 train. It was a long wait for James, Emily, Arianna and the diesel, but finally, they saw the distant gleam of headlights, and a few minutes later BoCo was sliding into the station, an amused glint in his eyes.

"What have you three got up to?" He chuckled as he came to a stop. The engines were too nervous to reply and instead watched as the carriage doors banged open. James tensed as the Fat Controller emerged and strolled purposefully towards the diesel's crew. No one said a word, all watching as the Fat Controller exchanged words with the driver before casting his eyes over the diesel. Silence filled Vicarstown, the tension disturbed only by BoCo humming out of the station a minute later.

James held his breath. He hadn't spoken at all, not since his driver had told him he would be pulling the diesel back to the station. The maroon engine had clammed up at that, seemingly terrified by what would happen to him. James had pulled him in silence, forgetting all about his paint and showing up to the other engines, wondering instead if he had done something horribly wrong. _Why is he here? Has he fled here, does he need our help? He must have been hiding in that siding for a reason?_

In the station light, James could see more of the diesel. He was the same length as BoCo, possibly longer, and was dirty from buffer to buffer. Rust, grease, oil, it was all there, with scorch marks around his engine cover the most notable stain, maroon paint burnt black. James didn't know what he could do, but he just wanted to help the diesel however possible.

After what felt like hours of gazing at the diesel, the Fat Controller looked briefly at James, a smirk across his face, and the red engine tensed, but when the bald man spoke, it wasn't to him. "What is your name?" The controller said finally, eyes flickering back to the diesel.

The diesel gulped. "I was named after a baron, sir, but I was not fond of his name – it was Maurice, you see – so everyone just calls me Baron, sir."

"A much more suitable name." The Fat Controller turned to James, his face neutral, but the red engine nearly whistled in glee as he caught a familiar shine in his eyes. "James, would you please escort Baron to the Workshop? The men can give him a proper examination in the morning."

"Does this mean… can I stay here?" Baron wheezed.

"Perhaps; I will need to talk to your crew further and find out the facts, but if you are in a good condition, you might just solve a political issue I am having at the moment." The Fat Controller paused there and turned back to his own engines, eyes suddenly serious.

"I am not sure what possessed you three decided to go racing down a dangerous and unfished branch line. It would be remiss of me not to warn you three against doing something so reckless, idiotic and dangerous again in the future." The Fat Controller stepped back, a smile betraying the harshness of his words. "Yet Baron here may never have been found if not for you three, so I must thank you – you especially, James, as I hear this was all your idea."

"It – it – it was nothing, sir," the red engine replied quietly. He looked back at the Fat Controller, saw the pride across his face, and suddenly James couldn't take it any longer. "Sir, I didn't seek out to save Baron. When I heard an engine sneaking here last night, I thought that, if I found the diesel, you might forgive me for what happened the other day. I'm sorry, sir, but I don't deserve your praise."

The Fat Controller didn't say anything, he simply nodded, gazing up at the ceiling. James gazed down at his buffers, unable to meet Baron's eyes.

"James, while you are at the Works, make sure your crew arranges a time tomorrow for you to head back and get a proper wash down."

James looked up, confused. "Sorry sir, what did you say?"

"I think you heard me, James," the Fat Controller replied, smiling kindly. "You may think you were acting selfishly, and perhaps you were, just a little bit, but by trying to redeem yourself, no matter your justifications, you are behaving like the type of engine I want to see on my railway: one who wants to be accepted as part of a team, not a lone individual only thinking of themselves. And really, James, you can't be part of my team looking like _that_ – whatever will the engines on the Other Railway think?"

It took a moment for James to realise what the Fat Controller had said, and then he laughed along with him. He was relieved to see Baron was smiling again, clearly holding no ill feelings, and James felt as though a weight had been lifted off of him.

 _This is better than taking twenty enthusiasts trains,_ he thought as he joined in on the chorus of whistles. _The Fat Controller was right – it doesn't matter how clean my paint is, what matters is doing good, there is no feeling better than that!_

"It's pity you're getting cleaned," Arianna whispered behind him. "All that soot was starting to grow on you."

James glowered back at her. _Okay, maybe not… still…_ And as James set off back into the night, Baron clanking and spluttering in front of him, he couldn't help smiling. It may not be orthodox what had happened, but they had got there in the end. It felt corny for James to admit it, but as he looked at Baron's happy, relieved face, he knew the type of engine he wanted to be: supportive, cooperative, really useful – and most of all, _clean_.


	8. The Tracks are Always Greener

**The Tracks are Always Greener**

 _April 2015_

It hadn't been a very good day, even before the cow appeared.

Though that was not what Percy had expected when his shed doors had been flung open that morning. As he breathed in the crisp morning air and peered out into the Ffarquhar yard, he had been pleasantly surprised to see the sun shining through a haze of steely clouds.

 _A sunny day, that's always a good sign._ Percy had felt hopeful at that point; good weather meant good travels, and a day without any fuss or bother was what the engines needed.

Percy had been looking for positive signs wherever he could lately. They all were. It wasn't that things were bad; it was simply that they were not as good as they could be. The centenary was fast approaching, but no one could focus on it long enough to be excited. With accident after accident plaguing the railway, and the vendetta it had sparked in the local MP, a dark cloud hovered over the railway, and everyone was too uncertain to think about the future.

Thankfully, there was one thing to distract them. "Any news?" Rosie asked excitably when her driver arrived. She was the keenest to hear about this mysterious Baron who had arrived on the island two days earlier under a cloud of secrecy. She, alongside nearly every engine on the railway, had latched onto the news, a welcome distraction they so desperately craved.

"I only just arrived at work, what would I know?" Rosie's driver chuckled and strolled into the shed, not noticing the crestfallen look that every engine was wearing.

"Cheer up, Rosie," Percy said. "You shouldn't be frowning when it's such a beautiful day!"

Rosie looked at him and looked at the clouds. "It looks like it's going to rain," she said mournfully.

Percy's firebox sank. Dismayed, he looked to his left and saw Thomas was staring at the clouds. "Nice to see someone is appreciating the weather."

"Hmm?" Thomas looked around, eyebrow raised. "Sorry Percy, I was a million miles away. Did you say something?"

"Nothing important," Percy replied, trying to keep his smile up. Silence hung between them for a moment as the saddle tank tried to find a new topic. "Can you believe James of all engines tracked down the diesel? A bit ironic, isn't it?"

"Is it?"

"I... I think so…"

Thomas made an 'hmm' sound again. "I'm not sure that is irony. When my driver explained it to me once –"

"I just meant it's funny that James found a diesel, given how he always used to be so testy around them," Percy interrupted quickly. "Strange, isn't it, a diesel running away from the Mainland. I wonder why they did it."

Suddenly, Thomas was cross. "Look, Percy, I don't want to keep talking about this diesel. You spent all night twittering on about it, and I don't want to be barraged with the same topic again first thing in the morning!"

"Well… excuse me for trying to make conversation!" Percy huffed. "If I had known you were in a bad mood, I wouldn't have bothered."

"I'm only in a bad mood because you bothered me!"

Thomas had set off on that note, leaving in a furious cloud of steam. It took a few minutes to clear, and when it did, Percy saw Toby watching him from the other side, smiling sympathetically before following after the blue engine.

It had all been downhill from there. Annoyingly, despite the early summer sun, Thomas' bad mood proved contagious. When Percy left the sheds a few minutes later, he was still fuming. Thomas had acting strangely for weeks now, and Percy had borne the brunt of it, as he had for years. Why was it always him on the receiving end? Why did Thomas never snap at Toby or Rosie or even Titan – he was new, let him have it for a change!

When Percy had reached the yard, his mood had darkened. The trucks had been scattered all over the sidings, which meant more time would have to be spent shunting them together. Percy had known it was not the trucks fault, but being in the mood he had been in, it was therapeutic to take it out on them; with the vigour of a much younger engine, he banged into every truck he came across, hitting some with such force they went hurtling down the tracks. "No need for that nonsense!" One huffed.

"Be quiet!" Percy snapped back and gave it another push.

The regret did not come until later. When Percy had finally shunted the trucks he needed into order, he had rolled around to the front of the train and coupled up. Not contemplating his treatment of the trucks, he had tried to push them out of the yard straight away.

The trucks saw things a little differently. "You push us, we push you! You push us, we push you!" They chanted, their shrill laughs filling the yard. Percy groaned and pushed with all his might, but the trucks had slipped their breaks on and refused to budge.

It took fifteen minutes for his crew and the guards to go down the line and manually release them, costing everyone valuable times. As they were running late, they had to wait for Flora to head down the line first, leaving Percy to stew at the station, the trucks chattering and chanting away behind him, pushing his temper up even further.

Now Percy was finally starting his work proper, almost an hour after leaving the sheds. Leaving the yards and the delays behind him, the tank engine let his emotions flow into his side-rods; he pounded down the rails with renewed strength, the wind blasting against his face. His quarrel with Thomas lingered on his mind, but when Percy left the Hackenbeck Tunnel and saw the sun shining above, he smiled. _It's still early_ , he thought to himself, _there's still a chance this day could go well_.

Then the cow appeared.

It all happened at once. Percy was so busy trying not to think about Thomas and the trucks that he wasn't paying attention to the track ahead. He turned a corner and registered only as his brakes were applied that there was a large cow standing in his path. His wheels screeched, his side-rods seized, the trucks slammed into him, and Percy shut his eyes, preparing for the worst.

His wheels hit something, and Percy cried out as a sharp pain spread across his left side. He waited a moment to see if it would pass, and when it didn't, he opened his eyes and found the cow staring right at him. It appeared unharmed and actually seemed quite cute, except for her warm breath that made Percy recoil. There was a crunch beside him, and he looked down to see his driver and fireman investigating his side.

"Something hit me," Percy wailed. "I thought it was the cow."

"It's not the cow, but it's certainly her fault." His driver appeared beside the animal, holding up a large plank of wood. "Looks like she broke through the fence and dragged part of it with her. Your side-rod is broken, we aren't going anywhere."

Percy looked between his driver and the cow. He had a sudden urge to wheesh steam like Thomas and disappear, but he was too beaten to do anything. He simply had to sit there, waiting for help to arrive with only the cow for company. The trucks chittered away, and his crew talked about what to do about the cow, but Percy said nothing, simply accepting the defeat for what it was.

After a period – it could have been a few minutes, it could have been an hour, Percy had no idea – a horn sounded nearby, and there was a rattle as Daisy pulled up on the other line.

"Oh, Percy! What have you done now?"

Percy looked indignantly up at the diesel, matching her glower as she stared narrowly at him. "Don't look at me like that! It's not like I planned this."

"Could've fooled me," Daisy replied sardonically with a roll of her eyes. "Is this cow a friend of yours? It seems quite attached to you."

"No, she's not," Percy huffed and stared angrily at the cow as it continued to stand near him, watching him with a kind of infatuated curiosity.

Daisy chuckled and rolled her eyes again. "Oh, Percy, you really are a character."

Percy didn't know what Daisy meant by that, but he had a feeling it wasn't a compliment. He didn't say another word to her as they waited for the farmer to retrieve his cow. A moody, heavy silence hung in the air. Percy looked back at the sky and saw that clouds have moved to cover the sun, and he could only sigh.

* * *

"Well, well, well, what have you done now?"

"Would you all stop asking me that?" Percy huffed, and Henry merely laughed.

It had been only half an hour since he had broken down, but to Percy, it felt like much longer. After the cow had been taken away, Titan arrived and pushed Percy and his train down to Knapford. The stationmaster had arranged for an engine on the main line to push Percy to the Works; when Percy had been told of the plan, he had hoped it wouldn't be one of the big engines. Henry's greeting confirmed why.

"So, you had a run in with a cow?" The tender engine chuckled as Titan shunted Percy onto the main line. "Who'd have thought a cow would prove the best of you?"

"That's a bit rich," Percy snorted. "At least I didn't run away from it. I mean, what sort of engine is afraid of a cow?"

"Watch it, you!" Henry grunted, giving Percy a little push as he buffered up to him. "I don't have to shove you to the Works, I could just leave you here – or maybe take you all the way to the Mainland; you can meet whatever it is that scared the new engine here."

Percy knew better than to get into an argument with Henry. There really was no winning when it came to him, Gordon and James – it had been that way for years, ever since he had been their pilot engine. No matter how many tricks he played or how many ways he teased them, they always got the last laugh, and Percy was in no mood to try and change that now.

They set off as soon as the two engines were coupled together. It was not often that Percy got out on the main line, and he felt his tension slacken as he passed towns and stations he never got a chance to see. The people waiting on the platforms seemed surprised to see two engines pulling their train, and phones flashed as they snapped a picture of the rare sight. Murdoch and Bear passed on the other track and whistled and honked in greeting, and Percy began to cheer up.

He was surprised by how many sights stirred up memories within him. The siding he had crashed into, only a few weeks after arriving on the island, was still there, though the landscape had changed a lot over the decades. As they approached Gordon's Hill and Henry began to gather his strength, Percy remembered what a struggle it had been when he, Thomas and Duck had taken the Express. The coupling between him and Henry tightened as gravity pulled the coaches back, and Percy smiled reflectively.

The joy was short-lived. As they sailed down the other side of the hill, Wellsworth waiting for them in the distance, Percy saw James was climbing up on the other line.

"Had another accident, has he?" The red engine called.

"What do you think?" Henry was breathless from the climb but his smirk still shone through in his voice.

"Typical!" James snorted, and the big engines laughter echoed across the hill.

Percy sank back into his mood for the rest of the journey, barely even acknowledging Delphine when she tried to introduce herself at Wellsworth. He just wanted to get his side-rod fixed and put this behind him as the terrible day that it was.

Finally, the big yard appeared, and Percy smiled with relief. It was bustling and busy as always; Arthur waiting with trucks, Emily pulling in with her green coaches. They both smiled at him, and Percy returned the gesture, but his heart wasn't in it.

"How funny. I don't think I've ever been greeted by two engines before."

Percy looked around, wondering where the voice had come from, before remembering the little railway that terminated at Crovan's Gate. He relaxed when spotted the boxy red engine smiling up at him.

"Hello there," the engine said. "I don't think we've met before. I'm Ivo Hugh."

"Percy, nice to meet you." He rarely thought about the other railways on the island, but it was always a nice reminder of how much bigger the world was than just Thomas' branch line.

"Oh yes, I think I've heard of you," Ivo Hugh replied, nodding as he cast his mind back. "Henry and the others always tell me stories about your railway. I like hearing about all you big engines."

Percy laughed. "I'm not that big."

"Compared to me you are," Ivo Hugh chuckled. "These things are all a matter of perspective in the end, aren't they?"

"Yeah, I suppose you're right."

"You may be big to him, but you're still smaller than me," Henry sniggered. He jolted forwards, making Percy's wheels judder. "Come on, I can't hang around all day while you chat to everybody!"

Percy scowled but said nothing, not wanting to start an argument. "It was nice to meet you."

"You too – have fun at the Works!" Ivo Hugh whistled in farewell, and Percy sounded his in reply, pleased that at least one engine wasn't looking down at him.

It was a short trip across the yard, and finally, Percy was at the works. The tank engine had expected it to be busy, it always was, but he was surprised by how crowded it was. There were four other engines in there, each one surrounded by more people than Percy had ever seen inside the Works before. Most of them were far too well dressed to be workmen, and they seemed disgruntled to move as Percy was slowly pushed in behind them.

It was only when Percy came to a stop alongside Wilson that he was able to see why they were all here. Near the middle of the shed, the Fat Controller was standing next to an engine Percy had never seen before. A woman and the foreman stood on the other side, while a semicircle of flashing cameras enclosed them.

"Is that Baron?" Percy whispered, and Wilson nodded, a serious look in his eyes.

"Of course I am pleased!" The Fat Controller suddenly boomed, and Percy realised that he was being interviewed, that these non-workers were journalists. "With the railway continuing to grow every day, it is important that we have enough engines to work the lines and deliver the level of service our customers expect. So yes, I expect Baron will make a fine addition to our fleet."

"You must be relieved, though," one of the camera bearers called out. "To have a diesel turn up out of the blue like that, right when the public pressure to modernise was hitting fever pitch?"

The Fat Controller looked sheepish, but before he could reply, the woman leant forwards. "Oh, now Peter, I am sure that Sir Topham would have purchased a new diesel anyway. Our little _campaign_ , if you will, was just there to move things along a little bit, and, well, Baron's arrival _definitely_ moved things along!"

There was a ripple of laughter through the crowd, but Percy frowned. What was this talk of modernisation? Where had that come from?

"Are you satisfied then, Mrs MacMillan?" The same reporter asked. "Now that there is another diesel on the railway, is this the end of your campaign?"

The politician chuckled at the question, and she reached out with her thin hands, putting them on the Fat Controller's shoulders. "For now," she said, beaming broadly, and the camera flashes intensified.

"That will be all," a woman in a black suit said, and the swarm around Baron broke apart. The Fat Controller and Mrs MacMillan remained locked in conversation, their smiles fading, and Percy felt dreadfully confused. What exactly was going on?

Before he could dwell on it any further, the foreman emerged from the crowd. "Ah, Percy, we've been expecting you. Broken side-rod, was it?"

"Yes sir, a cow strayed onto the line."

"Oh dear, I bet that hurt!" The worker said, peering at the affected area and shaking his head. "We'll try and get you fixed up as soon as possible, but as you can probably imagine, we are bit stretched at the moment. Cole's got a leak somewhere we need to find, and there's an engine to be a restored and an engine to be entirely built."

"That's alright, I don't mind waiting," Percy replied, thinking of the tense atmosphere he'd left behind. A few hours spent at the Works might just be the thing to clear his mind.

As the workers returned to their jobs and the scrum of journalists dispersed, the Works began to feel normal again: busy, but busy with a purpose. The sounds of machines whirring, hammers hitting metal, and grunting workers replaced the flashing of cameras and hum of a crowd, and Percy began to relax again. He could see Baron a bit clearer now, Cole blocking his view, but the diesel looked relaxed as his maroon paint was retouched by a trio of bustling workers. In a far corner, the new engine, Cyclone, was resting, seemingly oblivious as pipes were welded into place. This was the centenary atmosphere Percy had been missing; new things happening, old things being recognised, none of the worries and doubts that seemed to be plaguing the rest of the island. _There's still hope_ , he thought with a smile.

Yet, once again, the mood didn't last long.

"Out of the way, out of the way!" A booming voice thundered behind him, and Percy looked around as Gordon rumbled to a stop.

"You could just use your whistle, you know."

Gordon tutted. "I am here because of my whistle, thank you very much! A paint can fell from the scaffolding at Vicarstown and dislodged it, I need it fixed immediately."

"Well, you might have to wait – there is a line."

"Ha!" Gordon snorted. "You may not know this, little Percy, but when you are an important engine doing important work that actually matters, there is no such thing as waiting; the matter gets addressed immediately so you can go back to being important. Maybe one day you will know what that feels like."

Percy huffed. "I am important, what I do matters!"

"It's nice that you tell yourself that," Gordon said derisively.

Percy went to reply, but a pair of footsteps silenced him. He looked up in time to see the Fat Controller was walking past, deep in conversation with the politician. Percy put on his widest smile, hoping to attract his manager's attention, and was pleased when the bald man looked up.

"Ah, hello there Percy!" He said, his own frown quickly turning into a smile, and he stopped. Mrs MacMillan looked up as well and made no effort to change her face, casting her eyes sternly over the tank engine.

"My, my, Richard; three engines here at once, is this a record or merely the start of a regular day for your railway?" She laughed coldly and carried on, leaving the Fat Controller red-faced and fuming in her wake.

"Hello sir, how are –" Percy began, but the Fat Controller walked off without another word, waving almost dismissively as he disappeared from view.

"Point proved." Gordon chuckled as if in triumph and looked knowingly at Percy. The tank engine said nothing in response. He couldn't argue back when there was nothing for him to say. He simply sat there in silence, no longer looking forward to the long wait.

* * *

The interruption of the press conference and Gordon's faulty whistle had delayed the workers, and by the time evening had fallen, Percy was still waiting. His initial relief at the unexpected break had long evaporated; he was cold and stiff, and the bustling workshop meant he couldn't get any sleep, leaving him to drift in and out of consciousness. Percy wanted to be back in his own shed, surrounded by engines that didn't rush to point out how useless he was. It was only when he thought of that that Percy remembered his argument with Thomas, and realised he was probably better off here.

Thankfully for him, Wilson had noticed his plight. After Gordon had left, the diesel had offered Percy his spot next to Cole. The green engine had leapt at the offer for company, and Wilson acted quickly, shunting Percy into his spot so he was closer to the other engines. Baron had looked up when Percy appeared but had simply smiled sheepishly and looked away, removing himself from any possible conversations.

Cole, on the other hand, had been pleased to see a fellow saddle tank. Percy had only met the grey-blue engine on a few occasions, never long enough for a proper conversation, and was pleased to have someone new and unbiased to talk to.

The workers had gone home for the day shortly after the switch, with only a small team staying behind to work on Cyclone. The shed should have been silent, but Percy and Cole had not stopped talking for over an hour, the two regaling each other with stories from their youth.

"… and it took two cranes to lift me out of the water. By then I was freezing cold, I could feel all this dirt and slime gathered on me, I wouldn't have been surprised to find barnacles there. But, of course, none of that compared to just how _embarrassed_ I felt!"

Their laughter echoed, Percy harder than his comrade. He hadn't felt this good in weeks, and all the drama that had occurred, all the insults and snipes and accidents, were worth it for this moment. He even caught Baron smiling quietly in his corner.

"I shouldn't laugh, but that's just too funny." Cole chuckled and sighed, shaking his head.

"That's barely scratching the surface," Percy said, smirking. "I've probably had more accidents than you've had hot fires."

"I wouldn't be surprised!" Cole grinned at Percy as their laughter died down. "I'm amazed it has taken us this long to talk like this. We're two of, what, three saddle tank engines on the railway; somehow, we should have had this chat a year ago."

"You're forgetting Bill and Ben," Percy pointed out.

"Not by accident," Cole muttered, and the two laughed. "They're fine, I suppose, some of the time, but you and I have more in common than those two. You're from Avonside as well for one thing, right?"

"Oh yes, I was built there."

"I thought so. I must say, though, you don't look like many of the other Avonside engines I've met."

"That's because I was partially rebuilt," Percy explained.

"Oh really? So you're an experimental engine, eh?"

Percy laughed. "Don't say that! It makes me think I should have bolts sticking out of my side."

"True, true," Cole laughed. "So how did you end up there?"

"I can't really remember, it was so long ago." Percy paused, trying to cast his mind back through the decades. "Honestly, it's quite a blur. I did the sort of work I do now – shunting trucks and coaches, working at harbours. I remember that the harbour I first worked at was busier and bigger than Knapford. We had huge ships come in every day, the sort that stops at Tidmouth now, and I was constantly working, moving trucks all over the place. It was madness!"

"So what happened – Beeching close your line down?" Cole asked grimly.

"Oh, this was before steam engines were being pulled from service," Percy said. "I don't remember seeing many diesels about. I don't remember how I got to the workshop. It just… happened, I suppose. One day I was working at a harbour, the next I was having parts replaced. I don't know what came in between."

"That must have been tough, going straight from one place to the other like that. When my old line was closed, we were at least given _some_ warning about it."

"I don't think it was as sudden as I'm making it sound," Percy said with a sheepish smile. "It was so long ago I honestly can't remember it properly!"

Cole raised an eyebrow. "Really? I've met engines older than you who can recall their early years quite vividly. Do you at least remember the workshop?"

"Of course! It would be hard to forget," Percy laughed. "I was in the same siding for a few months or a few years, it's hard to tell, but long enough to remember it all. There was a lot of turnover, engines came and went, but it was always the same. We were all tank engines there, I know that for certain. I think some of them had been rebuilt as well. But it was more than just physical similarities. Everyone acted the same. Some were really sad about not working, others were worried they'd never be purchased, a few were happy and smiling and trying to be positive, others were very dismissive and snobbish about the whole thing. We'd talk to each other, swap stories and that, but it was mostly just quiet."

"I was at a few places like that, I know what you mean," Cole said. "So that was your life until you came here?"

"Yes!" Percy smiled again, thinking back to that fateful day. It had happened so long ago, but he would never forget how happy he had felt to be chosen, to know he would be starting a new life and a new job, on Sodor of all places. "I don't need to tell you what it's like to know you are going to work again, but it really is a great feeling, isn't it?"

"The best," Cole said fondly.

"When he looked at me and asked if I wanted to work for him, I was so happy I thought I might burst – but, of course, you have to look calm, don't you? Don't want to scare them!" Percy chuckled. "When he said he'd call me Percy, I knew everything was going to be perfect."

"Oh, so you haven't always been called Percy?"

"No." Percy paused, a sudden sadness striking him. What had been his name before then? He must have had one, he was sure of that – or did he just have a number? He hadn't always been number six, he knew that, but surely there must have been another name or number.

"How about that then," Cole said wistfully. "Imagine if he hadn't chosen you that day – you'd not only be working somewhere else, you'd have a different name as well!"

"I… I've never really thought about that," Percy mumbled, staring blankly into space.

Cole didn't notice the sense of loss that had appeared in his fellow tank engine's voice. "Really? I'd never think about anything else if that was me! Though I guess everyone's so nice here, you wouldn't really want to work anywhere else, would you?"

Percy didn't reply with words, merely made an agreeable noise, the only lie he could muster.

"Now see, when I found out I was coming here, I was over the moon like you wouldn't believe!"

Cole carried on recalling his life story for another half an hour. Percy tried to follow along, smiling and laughing in all the right places, but his heart was no longer in the conversation. He was lost in thought, thinking back decades, back to the workshop, to the time before Sodor. Percy's thoughts drifted away into the past, and they remained there long after Cole had finished his story, and lingered well after Percy had fallen asleep.

* * *

The next morning, Percy woke to find that the day was already well underway at Crovan's Gate. He cast a weary eye across the shed and saw that workers were already bustling away with Baron and Cole. The rhythmic chorus of hammers and blow torches and metal on metal filled the shed and Percy knew he would not be getting back to sleep anytime soon.

"Did we wake you?" Cole asked as he caught Percy's eye, flashing a chipper smile.

"Just a bit," the tank engine replied, trying not to sound too fatigued but was betrayed by a wide-mouthed yawn that made the workers around him laugh.

"That doesn't look good," Cole chuckled. "Bad sleep?"

"It was fine," Percy said, trying to look happy, and was pleased when it worked; the workers carried on with their repairs, and Cole returned his attention to his crew. Percy silently breathed a sigh of relief, glad to have not been pressed further. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to be alone with his thoughts.

While he had had a long sleep, it had been restless and strained. His dreams had been plagued by an endless sea of questions that followed him at every turn, punctuated by flashes of maniacal workmen, sombre sheds and dozens of round faces watching him from the darkness, every single one crying or hissing at him.

It wasn't hard for Percy to work out the hidden message. His conversation with Cole had raised questions, questions the tank engine had never considered before, yet now that they had been raised they refused to leave him alone, demanding answers he couldn't possibly come up with. They were questions he had asked himself before he went to sleep, and they had lingered on his mind, punctuating his dreams and memories and refusing to let go. Percy wanted to ignore them, he didn't want to think about this anymore, yet sitting there with nothing to do and nowhere to go, that was easier said than done.

What if he hadn't been chosen by the Fat Controller that day? What if he had chosen a different engine, or never come to the Mainland at all? What would have happened to Percy then? He wouldn't even be called Percy for a start. He'd be someone else, probably named after some nobleman or a lake somewhere. Would he have led a meaningful life? Would he have survived the scrap man's axe and ended up on a heritage line, or would he have never even had made it out of the workshop?

The possibilities were endless, and it was that which terrified him. Percy had come so close to living a completely different life, working in a different place, surrounded by different sights, different engines.

And it was that one question that sounded above the rest: what if things could have been better? Percy felt ungrateful even considering it, but he couldn't help himself, not after the last few weeks. There had been about thousand, maybe more, branch lines back in the day, and he could have ended up on any one of them.

He may have never met Thomas and Toby and Mavis and Harold and all his other friends, but there would have been other engines, different friends, different enemies. Not that Percy thought of the big engines as enemies, more… difficulties.

The work would be different, especially if he had ended up on a heritage line. No trucks, little opportunity to be by the sea, but maybe Percy would have preferred being in the mountains or driving alongside meadows? Wilbert and Stepney had raved about their lines. They were shorter, yes, but that wouldn't have bothered Percy much.

 _Would it have been a bad thing working on another railway?_ _Never meeting Gordon or James, never being teased and tricked and mocked. I could have been respected, valued, not dismissed like some silly little tank engine. Not dismissed in the way Thomas always does; always has, always will. I'll always be the fool, the stupid one, the accident prone, nothing is going to change that._

"Something bothering you, mate?"

Percy looked up. He had drifted off so completely that he hadn't noticed that workers were busying away by his wheels; he felt a pinch and knew they were repairing his side rod. The tank engine had no idea how much time had passed since he'd spoken to Cole and felt a touch embarrassed to have zoned out in such a way.

"I said, is something bothering you?" The voice called again. It was one Percy didn't recognise, and he looked around, trying to find the source, before realising it was right in front of him. Baron smirked as Percy's eyes finally settled on him. "Haven't exactly been very chatty, have I?"

"It's not your fault, my mind was… elsewhere," Percy said, smiling awkwardly.

"I gathered as much. Thinking about what was said last night, eh?" Baron asked.

Percy nodded, seeing no point in hiding it. "I've never really thought before how different things could have been. I was so excited and happy and busy when I first arrived here that I never really looked back."

"You don't have to tell me. I was close to being scrapped, and before my crew decided to try and come here, I always thought about what would have happened if I had gone to work on a different line."

Percy suddenly felt incredibly selfish. "I am so sorry, I had no idea!"

"I haven't exactly been advertising the fact," Baron said with a dark smirk. "Not trying to make you feel guilty, just saying we're in the same boat – or, on the same track, I guess," he added, laughing.

Percy smiled, but he was still lost in thought. The scrap issue would have been a problem on any railway, but it was one that hadn't escaped them here on Sodor. The Fat Controller may have reaffirmed how important everyone was at the Ulfstead opening, but looking around at Cyclone and Baron, thinking about the talk around modernisation yesterday, there didn't seem to be as much weight behind that claim as Percy had first thought.

"Yeah, waiting to be scrapped is certainly no fun at all. You just feel useless, like you don't really matter much to anyone. It's not a great feeling to have. You are working hard the next day, and the next, it's like none of that meant anything. Do you know what I mean?"

Before Percy could reply to Baron, he saw his crew walking towards them, smiles across their faces.

"Looks like we're ready to get back to work," Percy's driver announced. "And just in time – it sounds like we're needed back at Ffarquhar."

Percy glanced down and saw the workers had disappeared. His broken side-rod had been fixed, just like that, yet he had been here nearly twenty four hours. _Gordon was right. I'm not that important, not important enough to do a small job quickly. And if I'm not important…_

"Yeah, I know the feeling," Percy said. Baron didn't say anything, merely cast the tank engine a knowing look, one that stuck with Percy long after he had left the works behind.

* * *

The sun was shining again by the time they made it back to the branch line, but Percy felt none of its warmth. His mind was elsewhere, so far away from his physical self that nothing else mattered to him. He ignored the trees, he ignored the fields, he passed through the stations without any acknowledgement of the waiting passengers. None of it mattered to Percy anymore.

He had worked this line for so many years he had lost count, and what did Percy have to show for it? The big engines thought him silly and unimportant, his best friend was always cross with him, there were more engines now then there was work needed, so many that it didn't really matter that he'd spent the day at the Works. Percy had never really imagined a life for himself, he had always been content with what came his way, but what if he had could have had something else? Talking to Cole and Ivo Hugh showed that he wasn't one thing to everyone, that everyone could be open-minded. He could have had important jobs, he could have been valued, he could have been the star attraction. Instead, he had nothing but a reputation he didn't want and friends that looked down at him.

 _I might as well be scrap rusting away in a siding._ Percy sighed sadly at the thought and trudged slowly to the yard, wondering what he was meant to do now.

As he got closer to the yard, Percy began to notice a strange noise. It was a sort of buzzing sound crossed with a low hum, the sort of noise he usually associated with a busy platform overflowing with passengers. The sound only got louder and louder, and Percy pushed his thoughts aside for the moment as he tried to work out what was going on.

The answer became apparent very quickly. Chugging slowly past the sidings, Percy saw they were full to bursting, rows and rows of trucks that covered every inch of track. The sound was that of nearly a hundred trucks muttering and giggling to each other, the collective hum it caused reverberating across the yard in an almost deafening whine.

Looking closer, Percy could see none of the trucks were shunted together, while some were loaded and others weren't. _This is chaos_ , Percy thought, and knew that was really an understatement.

As he pulled into the station, the yard master ran out of the stationmaster's office to greet him. "Oh Percy, thank goodness you're here!" He cried, wearing the expression of someone that had lost all hope.

"What's going on?" Percy asked as he slid to a stop.

"The other engines didn't realise you were gone for a few hours, and by the time the word had gotten around, Mavis, Rosie and Titan had already shunted their trucks," the master explained. "They were all in the wrong order, and Titan tried to sort it out, but the trucks told them to put them in the wrong places, and now things are in a real mess. There were enough trucks at the quarry to tide them over, but if we don't sort this mess out soon, we'll have to cancel trains."

The man looked frantic and stressed out, and it was clear that Percy had arrived just in the nick of time. He could hear the trucks from here and could see the passengers staring in their direction, all muttering to each other, questioning what was going on.

"Don't worry, I'm on it."

It took a minute for Percy to cross over to the sidings; the points were all set for him, as though they had been waiting for his return all night. The hum was even louder up close, but the trucks in front fell silent as the tank engine approached.

"Ooooh, look who they've sent!" A coal truck cackled.

"Did they drag you back from the works because the other puffers were too scared?" A milk tanker asked, causing an eruption of laughter to consume the waiting trucks.

"Enough of that nonsense!" Percy huffed. "You trucks are holding everyone up, pull yourselves together!"

"Maybe you should've thought of that before you pushed us!" The coal truck snapped, and there was an echo of agreement from its neighbours.

Percy frowned. "Are you still upset about that?"

"Of course!" Several trucks cried in unison, and suddenly a familiar chant began to carry from siding to siding: "You push us, we push you! You push us, we push you!"

"We get bumped by everyone else, but we expect _you_ to handle us properly!" The first coal truck shouted over the roar.

"You're just like the rest of them!" A van added. The trucks yelled in unison, and the chant got louder and louder.

It was an overwhelming, angry wall of noise, nothing Percy had ever experienced before. He sat there in stunned silence for a few minutes, looking between the trucks and wondering what was going on.

"And here I thought you didn't like any engine," he said finally.

"We don't," one truck said quickly, taking any inference at a softening of emotions as an insult. "We just dislike you the least."

"Well… I don't know what to say," Percy said genuinely. "Is this why you tricked the other engines?"

"We thought if they did a bad job, you might come…" A van began speaking but trialled off, clearly embarrassed, but said enough for Percy to know what it wanted, and like that he knew what to do.

"I'm sorry I bumped you all. I didn't have a good morning yesterday, but bumping you was uncalled for. I promise I won't do it again… unless you deserve it, of course," he added quickly.

The trucks paused for a moment, eyes flickering furtively between one another in silent conference. Then, somehow, they all looked back to him and smiled. Percy raised an eyebrow and waited, expecting something else, but it never came; the trucks had accepted his terms, but they weren't going to discuss it any further.

"Alright then," the tank engine laughed, and he rolled forwards and buffered up to the first truck. It was an odd moment, but as Percy got stuck into sorting out the problem, he suddenly felt as though a weight had been lifted off his boiler. As the trucks slowly became untangled, Percy began to smile, and by the time the first train had been re-ordered, he looked up at the sky, saw the sun peeking out from behind a cloud, and began to laugh.

* * *

"Will you hurry up, I don't have all day?"

Percy rolled his eyes as he chugged past Thomas towards the western end of Knapford Station where a set of points led onto the Main Line. There was just enough room behind Henry's train for Percy to squeeze past and shunt the milk wagons onto the back of the long line of trucks.

"Finally!" Henry grunted. "I've been waiting ages for that."

"Barely," Thomas huffed as Percy reversed back alongside him. "Five minutes, maybe."

"Five minutes for you is about an hour for us Main Line engines! We don't have the luxury to dilly-daddle like you branch line engines do." Henry's eyes narrowed as he looked back at Percy. "I expect those trucks to be ready the next time I take this train! I don't know why you were so late, but don't let it happen again!"

Percy just blinked blankly at the big engine and smiled. "You know, I don't think I have ever thanked you, Henry."

The green engine looked stunned. "Thanked me? For what? Pushing your heavy frame up the hill yesterday?"

"Oh no, not for that. I meant for you bringing me to this island."

"What are you on about?" Henry huffed.

"When you went on strike; that was when the Fat Controller purchased me. If you, Gordon and James hadn't been such immature, silly engines, I'd never have come here. So thank you, Henry, I really appreciate your past stupidity."

The guard's whistle was drowned out by Thomas' snort of laughter. Henry said nothing, his mouth hanging open in a perfectly comical 'o', and he drifted out of the station in stunned silence. Percy whistled as he left, struggling not to smile himself.

"Wow. That was something else." Thomas struggled to talk through his laughter, shaking his smokebox in disbelief and smirking every time he looked at Henry's retreating train. "What brought that on?"

"Henry was quite rude to me yesterday, I couldn't let him get away with it," Percy explained. His smile faltered as he considered the next thing he wanted to say; it was going to be tough, but it was now or never. "As were you."

"What do you mean?" Thomas said, still laughing, but he caught the serious look in Percy's eyes and it began to drift off.

"You haven't been very nice to me lately. I don't know if I did something or if something is going on with you, but I'd like it if you stopped taking it out on me." Percy spoke quickly but with determination, trying to get it out before he became too afraid to continue. "I have worked on your branch line with you for a long time now, and I think we should be beyond the point where you blame me for everything. I'm not a truck you can just bump around whenever you feel like it, I'm your friend and I want to feel that way."

It was Thomas' turn to look shocked. It was a painful expression, and for a moment Percy felt guilty, but he shut down that voice in the back of his mind as quickly as it spoke up; this was about him, not Thomas, and he couldn't falter now.

There were a few minutes of silence, punctuated only by Pip and Emma zipping past with the Express, but finally, Thomas looked up at Percy. "Your right, I have been treating you badly. I've been dealing with a few things lately, stuff I'm not ready to talk about, but because I'm keeping it to myself I'm not really coping. You're utterly, completely right about everything though, and I am so sorry I have made you feel this way. Can you forgive me?"

Percy looked crestfallen for a moment, and he heard Thomas gasp, but then he looked back up and smiled widely and winked. "Of course! You and me running this line, I wouldn't have it any other way."

"You are so terrible with your jokes!" Thomas said, laughing as he breathed a sigh of relief, and the two friends laughed.

"Speaking of…" There was a rumble and a rattle, and the two engines glanced down the line as Gordon shot out of the tunnel like a rocket, slowing only as he approached the station. Percy watched him arrive, staring out at this station he called home, out towards the harbour he'd helped to build, at the ocean he'd had the privilege of watching for most of his life; the view was perfect, and the only thing that made it better was having a new target pulling up in front of it, someone else who had to learn what it meant to be disrespectful.

"Ah, Gordon, just the engine I wanted to see. I have something I want to tell you…"

* * *

 **Apologies for the super delay with this one. Trying to crack Percy's emotional state proved rather tricky. This isn't as nicely wrapped up as I'd like, so expect some more resolution in later chapters ;)**


	9. None Are So Old

**None Are So Old**

 _He said he knows what you did … he knows who you really are_

Thomas could see nothing but the rails ahead of him and the amber glow that surrounded him. He was pounding down the tracks, racing as fast as he possibly could. Yet the scenery never changed, no matter how far he travelled; the words never left him, no matter how fast he tried to outrun them.

 _He knows who you really are, why you came here…_

"I had no choice!" Thomas shouted into oblivion, but no one was there to hear him. There were no other engines around, no trucks or coaches, no passengers or vehicles. It was just him, alone on these tracks heading nowhere, alone with the fire.

 _There are no excuses, not for what you did, coward._

Thomas shut his eyes, somehow hoping it would block out the voices, but then all he could see was fire; fire in the sky, fire on the ground, fire in front and behind and all around.

"No…," he moaned, eyes bursting open to escape the nightmare. But the fire was everywhere, there was no escaping it. Orange and red flames danced along the sides of the track, burning everything they touched. Thomas yelled and gained steam, pushing himself faster than he had ever gone before. His wheels ached, his tanks were empty, his pipes strained under the pressure, yet the fire still chased after him.

"Stop it, leave me alone."

 _He said he knows what you did…_

"Leave me alone!"

 _He knows who you really are…_

"Stop it!"

 _You can't keep the secret forever_

"STOP!"

Thomas slammed his brakes on, but it was too late. The fire was on the tracks, both behind and in front of him. He was trapped. All he could see were the flames, the flames he was skidding hopelessly towards…

Thomas awoke with a jolt. There was a grunt and a thud inside his cab as he jerked forwards, rolling barely a centimetre closer towards the light. He would have apologised if he had noticed, but Thomas could hear only the faint shadow of the voices whispering in his memories, the fiery light burnt into his eyes.

"Are you alright, Thomas?"

The words snapped Thomas out of his memories. He could see Percy watching him with worried, narrowed eyes to his left, but Thomas looked back passed his friend and took stock of his surroundings: the early morning light creeping through the cracks in the shed wall, the open door in front of him letting that light spill in to his berth, the irritable grumblings of the firelighter as he busied away in his cab. No fire, no ominous warnings, no explosions.

 _It was a dream, it was only a dream._ Thomas sighed and finally turned his eyes to his friend. "I'm alright, Percy, just a little nightmare."

Percy's eyes narrowed further. "You seem to be having a lot of those lately."

"Have I?" Thomas said nonchalantly, looking away quickly.

"Yes, and you know you have! Is something wrong?" Percy said sternly.

"I swear it's nothing for you to worry about."

"Of course I am going to worry if my friend wakes up every morning sounding like he has just raced to Tidmouth and back!" Percy snapped. He paused, breathing slowly out. "Remember what we talked about the other day? I thought we'd reached an understanding."

Thomas sighed and nodded. Percy had been honest with him earlier that week, and Thomas owed it to be open with him. _But if I tell him what I was dreaming about, he'll want to know what it means, and I can't tell him that… not now, not ever…_

"It's… it's the centenary," Thomas said, hoping his sad tone made him sound convincing. "I am meant to be one of the main attractions, but I've got it in my head that something's going to go wrong, and if something goes wrong then what will that mean for me…"

"Oh Thomas, don't be ridiculous!" Percy groaned with kindness. "Even if you stuff everything up, the Fat Controller won't scrap you!"

"I know he wouldn't. I just can't help but worry, especially on days like today."

Percy's smile widened. "You'll be fine, Thomas, you have taken dozens of enthusiast trains before and they have all gone fine."

"Not all of them," Thomas replied, laughing.

"No, not all, but most," Percy chuckled. "If work yourself into a state like this you will guarantee that something terrible will happen."

"Your right. I need to calm myself down. Thanks, Percy."

Percy smiled back, and Thomas felt comfortable to look away. He could not ignore the guilt he felt for hiding his real worries, but he knew there was no other option. If Percy knew the truth, he would never talk at Thomas again.

It wasn't all a lie though. Today was a big day, and Thomas had to hope it would all go well. A series of what the Fat Controller had dubbed 'Branch Line Specials' were taking place across the island to commemorate the three railways that had existed before the North Western was built. Thomas was playing his part by taking a series of trains along the route of the old Tidmouth, Knapford and Elsbridge Light Railway, and he was being pegged as the star attraction of the weekend's event.

It wasn't the enthusiasts Thomas was worried about though. The sky may be bright and sunny, but there was no ignoring the dark cloud that was looming over the railway. For weeks pressure had been building over the railway's safety record. Edward, Henry and Gordon's accidents were being used to argue that the engines and the infrastructure were unsafe, and the cries had simply gotten louder and louder. There was hope that there would be calm now that The Fat Controller had purchased a new diesel, but Thomas knew that any incident, big or small, could be the final straw for the protesters.

There was movement at the door and Thomas looked up as his crew stepped inside. "Morning Thomas," his driver whispered. "You ready for the big day?"

"Ready and waiting!" Thomas shot back, flashing a smile. His crew grinned back as they walked towards his cab, leaving only empty space within the door frame. Thomas looked out at the yard, gazing at the tracks and sidings that had become so familiar after all these years. Things may not have always gone smoothly for him, whether he was crashing into houses or becoming a runaway, but this shed was his home and this yard was where he belonged.

 _Percy's right. Nothing bad will happen unless I think it's going to happen. Stop thinking about Barry's warning and enjoy life. The fire can't reach you here._

It was a temporary placeholder, one Thomas knew already wouldn't last, but what harm was there in hoping things would work out. If he could just get through today without any hiccups, without his sanctuary being threatened, then Thomas had a feeling he might finally be able to sleep easily again.

* * *

Edward had known there would be a crowd when he arrived at Wellsworth, but he had underestimated just how many people would be waiting for him to arrive. Anyone watching might have thought there was a celebrity in town, but the crowd was far too sombre and serious for anything as like that. Nearly a hundred people had gathered on the platforms, and tension hung in the air as they watched Edward pull in with his precious cargo.

Edward tried to ignore them as he glided quietly through the station, but he could not ignore how unsettling it was, the crowd watching him with thin lips and narrowed, judging eyes. The blue engine could just imagine the sort of perverse pleasure it would give the crowd to watch him deliver the replacement tower to the very spot where he had felled it a few short months ago.

 _Why they are keeping it here I will never understand._ Edward had raised the question with his driver last night and had gotten an answer, buried amongst talk of political grumblings across the island, which had done little to clarify the issue. Now that he was in the sidings, surrounded by waiting engineers, Edward tried to understand. He knew the reasoning and motivations, but how they had reached this point he had no idea.

Kelly revved forwards before Edward had even come to a stop. "Morning Edward," he chirped, hook dangling expectedly over the flatbed as workers flung the protective tarpaulin aside. "You always draw a crowd like this?"

"Not often," Edward replied tersely, glancing back towards the station. He had not seen Margaret MacMillan but he imagined she was standing amongst the crowd, waiting to feed on any morsel he gave them. _Whatever you do, don't drive into this one._

"Well you can head back to your fans if you want, we just need the truck now," Kelly said. Edward looked gravely at the crane: his smile was jovial, his expression clear that he had meant only to be friendly, unaware of the sharpness of his words. But then again, that was only something Edward could pick up on.

"Have fun," the blue engine replied, unsure if he had sounded sarcastic or not. He eyed the empty patch of sky that would soon be hidden behind the new cell tower and could not bother to stifle his sigh.

Edward trundled slowly back towards the station. He could not bear to watch the tower assembly, but he did not want to meet the eyes of the protestors again. The matter was making his boiler ache, and Edward longed for the comfort of his shed. _Only a few hours into the day and already you're tired._

Thankfully, Edward reversed into a siding beside the station so his water tank could be refilled. The protesters could see him but Edward was too far away to feel their judgement, and he soaked up the refreshing feeling of the cool water thundering into his tanks.

His peace did not last long though. A horn sounded after barely a minute of relaxation, and Edward looked up as Delphine slid into view. "Morning," he said, managing a smile.

"Morning," Delphine replied, looking genuinely cheerfully. "I'm just off to collect the coaches from Tidmouth for the enthusiast's train."

Edward felt his joy slip away as quickly as it had appeared in his tank. "Oh… sounds like fun!" In his desire to get this delivery over with, Edward had forgotten all about the Branch Line Specials happening that evening. _Enthusiasts train? Why is she taking the enthusiasts train!_

Delphine didn't notice Edward's change in demeanour, her eyes instead flickering towards the yard. "Delivered the tower already then?"

"Yes, yes indeed." Edward couldn't resist anymore and looked at where he had just come from; the bottom section was already hovering in the air beneath Kelly's arm, a foreman signalling for the crane to begin lowering it. Edward watched the process and sighed. "I really have to question the sanity of humans sometimes."

Delphine sniggered but looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"Look at where they are putting that tower. It should never have gone there in the first place, but the people in the town wanted it as far away from them as possible and this was as far as it could be. It's a miracle it took so long for someone to hit it, but it was an inevitably – Murphy's Law has long been in effect on Sodor, everyone should know that. You would think now they'd have the sense to move it, but _no_ , a silly phone tower has to be politicised and drawn into this little battle between the Fat Controller and Mrs MacMillan. It is baffling, but then humans have always been baffling. I have been around them all my life, and while society always changes, the one thing that never does is how baffling they all are. Always doing the wrong thing because it's their right to be wrong, yet they are the ones who decide what happens to us. It's baffling, utterly baffling!"

Silence followed. Edward could tell Delphine was uncomfortable and he felt guilty for making things awkward, but he was too drained to care.

"Are you alright?" The diesel whispered.

Edward gave her a smile mixed with apology and weariness. "I'll be fine, Delphine. You go collect those coaches now, we can't keep the enthusiasts waiting."

Delphine watched him uncertainly for a moment but she let the moment pass and honked before setting off down the line. Edward watched her go, waiting for his fireman to finish up with the water tower. _The young don't know how good they've got it_ , he thought painfully, and set off a minute later with a heavy feeling in his boiler, trying his best to look away from the slowly rising tower.

* * *

Busy. That was one feeling Barry had rarely felt on his trip. Busyness was not something that occurred naturally on heritage railways. They had their own sense of chaos to them, but that was normally the volunteers and staff trying to put together a show. The passengers were there for pleasure, the trucks were there for decoration, and the engines were simply glad not to be rotting away somewhere.

It had been nice during the trip, but as soon as Barry had gotten back, he had realised how much he missed disorder. His first full day back he had pulled into Tidmouth and paused for a moment, taking it all in: the passengers hovering as close as they could to the edge of the platform, the trucks chattering and giggling, the engines rushing about with aim and purpose. In that moment, it had all felt real again. For a brief moment, Barry felt home.

Yet as Barry drove through the station that morning, he felt no fondness for the big, empty building. It had been weeks since he had returned, bordering on months, and his rose-tinted view had gone dark. Underneath all the atypical regulars and the predictable naughtiness of the trucks and delays and frantic stationmasters, even Tidmouth had begun to feel different.

 _Nostalgia could only get you so far_ , Barry thought, and as his mind wandered back to the quietness of the railways he'd visited, he realised how grimly apt that was.

A whistle sounded from the other side of the station, and Barry looked up as a cheerfully yellow pulled up to the platform. "Morning, Barry!" She called, smiling as brightly as her paintwork. Barry whistled back and managed his own grin, but it faded as soon as he was out of sight; what exactly was her name again?

Barry slinked guiltily past the swarming passengers and towards the yard, trying not to let his dejection show. It was not a conversation he had had with anyone yet, and it wasn't one hoped to have any time soon. None of the other engines would understand. They had been here as the changes unfolded, it was all familiar to them. They wouldn't know how it felt to leave and return and find yourself an outsider in your own home.

A silver engine rushed past Barry as he rolled across the tracks and towards the shunting yards; the engine glistened in the early morning sun, chrome paintwork almost blinding. _Why are all these engines painted so ridiculously?_ Barry rolled his eyes as the thought passed through his mind. He'd sound so grumpy and old if he actually said that out loud, another reason he didn't want to share his thoughts with his friends, but the hard part was that he knew it was true.

Maybe this was why he couldn't cope with being back. On the heritage railways, even though they had all been different from both Sodor and each other, there had been a familiarity to each and every one. The same cosy stations and platforms spread across quiet little lines, snaking through fields and forests and past villages that could be described only as quaint. The work had been slow and sporadic, but it had felt like the work Barry had been built for, moving through different countrysides as opposed to just one. And now he was home, supposedly, surrounded by engines in colours that made no sense on an island that was expanding beyond its scope, adding more engines, building more lines and stations and destinations. Barry was still thankful for what Sodor meant to him and the other engines, but just how big could you go before you crashed?

Barry felt like he was on the edge of an epiphany, but before he could finish, an angry whistle cut through his thoughts. He slid to a stop, but he was surrounded by trucks and couldn't see any other engines. It took a moment for something else to happen, but then angry voices rose up from deep in the yard.

"Sounds like a fight's brewing!" A milk tanker next to him shrieked, and the surrounding trucks exploded with laughter.

 _Not on my watch,_ Barry thought, and he raced towards the shouting. It got louder and more heated the closer he got, with the deep-toned whistle joined by a higher pitched horn, as though the two mechanisms were fighting each other separately from their owners.

The line of trucks ended and Barry found the source of the chaos: Delphine and Duck were facing each other, both red in the face and struggling to be heard over the other. Yet as Barry rolled closer, he could tell they were turning red for very different reasons.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know they were yours!" Delphine shrieked apologetically, staring down at her buffers rather than look Duck in the eye.

"Didn't you think to ask before you tried coupling up to them?"

"There was no one here! I had no intention of stealing them!"

"Other engines might believe that, but I'm not other engines. I'm a Great Western engine, and on the Great Western Railway, there are – "

Barry's whistle cut through the hysterics. Duck stopped mid-sentence and looked around edgily, but his grimace relaxed when he saw who it was.

"What is going on?" Barry asked.

"Nothing for you to worry about. I just found this diesel trying to steal my coaches!" Duck said, looking back at Delphine with stern severity.

Delphine shuddered under the stare and looked pleadingly at Barry. "He won't believe me, Barry, he thinks I am after his coaches!"

Duck looked confused. "You know this engine?" He asked.

"Yes, I do," Barry huffed. "Her name is Delphine and she works on Edward's branch line."

Duck gasped. " _Ohhhh,_ so you're Delphine!" He looked at her and flashed a smile, but it faded under Barry's glower and Delphine's teary eyes. "Well, of course, if I had known you worked on Sodor, I would have never accused you of… of…"

"Of what?" Barry snapped. "How many diesels do you know that come over here and try to steal your coaches?"

"They are diesels, how do you know they don't?" Duck growled back. "I'm sorry, Delphine, but I have good reason not to trust diesels, especially not with my coaches. It's nothing personal. Just leave Alice and Mirabel there and I will go find you some coaches you can actually use."

The tank engine disappeared in a whoosh of steam; by the time the cloud had passed, only a hint of green was visible in the distance. Barry watched it until it had disappeared before turning to Delphine. "Are you alright?"

His anger slipped into his tone, making Delphine wince, but she relaxed after a moment. "I'm fine, it was just… shocking."

"I can imagine," Barry said, softening his voice. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, no thank you. I think I might just go find some coaches myself." Delphine spoke with a smile, but it was clearly forced and only made Barry worry more.

"Delphine, you can't let other engines talk to you like that just because you are a diesel! You have to –"

"I know how to defend myself, that doesn't mean I want to," Delphine snapped, and with a roar of her engine she took off, leaving only the strong smell of fumes in her wake.

Barry was left alone amongst the trucks, with only the cream and brown coaches for company. It had all ended so quickly there was nowhere for Barry's anger to go, and instead if deflated into a sudden, heavy sadness.

"Are you alright?"

Barry looked around, startled and thinking it was an engine, but he realised it was one of Duck's coaches. He gave her a false smile and began to move along. "Don't worry, I'm used to this," he called mournfully, and he set off to carry on with his day.

* * *

"What's going on over there?"

"Over where?"

"Over _there_ ," Fred sighed, staring firmly forwards.

"We are facing opposite directions," Skarloey chuckled before copying the diesel and looked back towards the Works. He had to squint to see, his sight not being what it once was, something he preferred not to point out. Thankfully, a maroon blur was coming sharply into focus in the general direction of Crovan's Gate, and Skarloey didn't need perfect vision to know what was happening.

"It must be that new diesel everyone has been talking about." Their crews had not told them much, but it was a small island and news travelled fast. Their proximity to the Works meant the little engines knew about Baron before most of the island did, and it had taken only a few exchanges of passengers before Sir Handel and Duncan had gathered all the information that was needed about the mysterious newcomer.

"Huh, they fixed him quick enough," Fred grunted. "Where was that speed when my motor needed changing?"

Skarloey laughed. The bulky diesel always brought a smile to his face. Some of the others thought him lazy and uncooperative, but underneath that gruff exterior hardened by years working for the Coal Board was an engine made of pure gold.

Fred chuckled himself for a moment before an irritable sigh took over. "Here come the workmen. Suppose I better be on my way."

"Yes, you'd better," Skarloey said with a kindly smile. "Those weeds aren't going to remove themselves!"

"Would save me a lot of time if they did."

Skarloey laughed again, and Fred's chunky face broke out into a wide grin. A guard's whistle sounded a second later, and with a growl of his engines and a spewing of fumes, the diesel clattered away down the track.

"Enjoy your day's work, Skarloey! It's always nice talking to you!"

"Goodbye for now!" Skarloey watched as Fred rounded the corner and disappeared, the diesel's last words hanging heavily in the air. Skarloey knew he would not have meant anything by them, but the old engine could not help but be bothered. _It's not always nice talking to me, is it?_ He thought glumly, thinking back to their argument a few weeks ago. He had been horrible to the poor diesel, and though Skarloey had apologised, he still felt guilty for his behaviour.

 _At least he is still talking to me… unlike some engines…_

Skarloey sighed, struggling not to look towards the shed. Rheneas was still there, his crew getting him ready to pull the next train. Normally he and Skarloey would get ready together, but that hadn't happened for weeks now. Barely a word had been exchanged between them since the fight – not for a lack of trying on Skarloey's part, but Rheneas was having none of it. His friend had even taken to arriving at the shed with his back to Skarloey, or sleeping on the other side of the wall, doing anything in his power to avoid conversation.

It had happened before; fights that had dragged out for weeks on end, but back then both engines had been young and impudent. It was different this time. Decades, almost a century, had passed since they had fought like this. Now, everything just hurt, and the worst part for Skarloey was that he knew it was his fault.

It hurt the most in moments like this. Skarloey had felt glum all morning, and while Fred had stopped and cheered him up a little bit, he was alone again with not a single engine near the station. The passengers all looked happy to see him as they piled into the coaches, but Skarloey was struggling to feel enthused when he knew this was only a brief reprise before another tense night together in the sheds.

"Well now, an engine like you is far too small to look that glum!"

Skarloey jumped, reversing into his coaches with a mighty thud. "Watch it you!" Agnes huffed, a sentiment echoed by her sisters.

"Sorry ladies," Skarloey said, but he wasn't interested in their hurt buffers now: he looked up to the station and saw a diesel sitting on the Main Line side of the platform, watching him with an amused look. "You must be Baron."

The diesel laughed. "News does travel fast around here! I heard there was a little railway on this island, but I'm sorry to say I don't know your name."

"Skarloey."

"Ah, so this must be your railway then."

Skarloey laughed. "I thought that for a while in my youth, but no, both the line and I are named after the lake at the top of the railway. It's Sudrian for 'Lake in the Woods'."

"I forgot there was a native language here, I feel so out of touch." Baron's smile lingered, but a sadness crept into his eyes at that point.

Skarloey was quick to notice. "Don't worry, not many people speak it around here, and certainly not the engines. You'll be fit in just fine."

"Thanks, it's nice of you to say," Baron said, chuckling to get past the awkwardness. "Though I don't think you are the one who should be comforting me. You don't often see engines looking so grim when they are waiting for passengers."

Skarloey blushed, his eyes flickering back towards the sheds. "I just had a few things on my mind, nothing for you to worry about."

"Oh?" Baron said, eyebrow rising. "You can talk to me if you want."

"Don't you have work to do?"

"Not yet. They are just testing the engine to see if it's up to the task, letting my crew take me for a few test runs while the tracks aren't as busy. Should be a few more days before they trust me with the big trains. Come on, tell me what happened, I'm starved for company!"

Skarloey paused, not sure whether he should burden the new engine with all his troubles. However, the more he dwelled on it, the more he warmed to the idea. It was so rare to have a fresh face to talk to who wouldn't feel pressured to pick sides, and if Skarloey was going to enjoy his trips today, he needed to let loose.

"My oldest friend and I got into a disagreement a few weeks ago – well, disagreement is a stretch. It was all my fault, and I still feel terrible about it, but he is refusing to talk to me and is not even letting my apologise. I really have no idea what to do, we have never fallen out like this before."

Baron listened and nodded. "I had a friend like that once. We were always bickering, but if I went too long without seeing him, I just couldn't cope. Those closes friendships are always the trickiest."

"They really are. Rheneas and I have known each other our whole lives; there is a lot of history between us. It is so easy to get on the other's nerves, but it hurts more when you know how easily you could have avoided it." Skarloey sighed. Talking about his issues was having the opposite effect. "I don't know why you are listening to me blither on about my problems when you must be missing all your friends now that you are here."

Skarloey looked up with a kindly smile that vanished instantly. Baron was looking at him darkly, and the old engine knew straight away that he had said the wrong thing. "My goodness, I am so sorry, I didn't mean to be flippant or –"

"It's fine, don't worry," Baron said quickly, rearranging his features in a smile that did not reach his eyes. "I do miss them… I really do. Hopefully, I see them again someday, but we have a much better chance of fixing your friendship before that happens!"

A whistle cut through the tension. Skarloey was so absorbed by Baron that he had forgotten all about his train, and for the second time, he jolted into his coaches.

" _Is there something wrong with your springs today?_ " Agnes hissed.

Baron raised an eyebrow and struggled not to laugh, the dark look in his eyes fading. "I should leave you too it. Don't give up on your friend. It'll take time, but never give up on a friendship that counts!"

"Thank you, I won't!" Skarloey whistled as he set off. "It was lovely meeting you."

"We must talk again soon!" Baron called, honking cheerfully as he reversed back to the Works.

 _What a lovely engine,_ Skarloey thought, smiling as he trundled out of the station. It was the most honest conversation he had had with an engine in weeks, and despite the awkwardness near the end, Skarloey felt much lighter and better for it and hoped already that he could talk with Baron again soon.

His joy faltered as he neared the sheds. Skarloey knew Rheneas was in there waiting to take his place at the station, and he could see smoke and steam billowing out through the doors. Sadness consumed the old engine for a moment, as it always did now when he thought of his friend, but just as quickly as those feelings arrived Skarloey forced them aside, Baron's words echoing behind him.

With a whistle that went on longer than it needed to, Skarloey thundered past the shed with a smile on his face. _I'm not going to give up. Ignore me all you want, Rheneas, but I will make it up to you one day,_ he thought, and with that determination coursing through his pipes and down into his pistons, he roared off down the line.

* * *

The day ticked by slowly for Edward. Saturdays usually were slow – there were fewer passenger trains, and most of the smaller shipping companies rested for the weekend – but today the old engine found the hours were dragging on at an even duller pace than normal. It didn't help that the entire docks were cloaked in silence, an eeriness interrupted by the occasional squawking gull or crane hook creaking in the wind. There was no one about, only a few dock workers shut away in their offices trying to endure the dreary pace themselves. Asides from them, Edward was all alone with only trucks for company – and, unfortunately, for once they weren't going anywhere.

"Pick up the pace, old fella!" His driver called from his cab. "These trucks aren't going to organise themselves."

Edward whistled back in response, glad his crew couldn't see his face. He had been organising trains for the week ahead for hours now, but the blue engine had a feeling his crew were trying to keep themselves occupied as much as him. _I am shunting trucks that aren't even going anywhere. This is the definition of useless_. Still, dull work was better than no work, and with a reluctant sigh Edward pushed the next line of empty tankers and watched them clank and clatter towards the others.

The last few weeks had been the longest in Edward's long life. It was not the first time he had felt his age, it was not the first time he had been embarrassed, and it was far from the first time he had felt useless. The dreams set in that damp, dusty shed had been happening more and more frequently, and though they caused Edward to awake in a startled state most nights, they filled him with a grim determination: he was not going back there, he was going to prove his worth no matter the cost.

The only issue was there was no chance to prove anything. All the big trains were handled by Cole now, leaving Edward with smaller goods and regular passenger services. That had been enough for him for a while, back when he was happy to ease the pressure on his ageing joints. But with Delphine around and new engines popping up all over the island, the chance for Edward to stretch his wheels and remind the Fat Controller he was more than a mobile antique got slimmer by the day. If he was stuck wearing himself out on shunting duty, the scrapyard was only going to get closer and closer.

A long, sharp whistle interrupted his thoughts. Edward rolled away from the trucks he had been about to target and looked around, Cole pulling up alongside him a moment later.

"Afternoon, Edward, how are things here?"

"Slow," Edward said, making the tank engine laugh. "Fixed already, I see. How were the Works?"

"As good as the Works can be," Cole said with a verbal shrug. "Met Percy properly for the first time, and talked to that new diesel."

"Baron?"

"Yeah, he's pretty friendly who someone that arrived here under those circumstances. So nice of The Fat Controller to take him in like that."

"That's our controller," Edward said, forcing a smile.

Cole yawned. "I barely slept last night, it was so noisy there. I'm going to go take a nap; you don't need my help with these?" He added, his eyes glazing over before he had even finished the question.

"I've been shunting trucks since before you were drawings, I think I can handle myself," Edward said, laughing to mask his bitterness.

Cole chuckled and took off, yawning again as he whistled in goodbye. Edward watched him go before returning to his trucks, giving them a solid bump to vent some frustration. He and Cole got along now, much better than when the poor engine had first arrived, but in his current mood Edward couldn't help but be bothered by how quickly the saddle tank had recovered.

Before he could settle back into his internal grumblings, a horn sounded in the distance. Normally it would have been drowned out by the busyness of the docks, but in the quiet, the sound carried even though Delphine must still be a few minutes away.

Edward jerked forwards, bashing into the trucks. He had to relieve the tension he could feel building up in his pipes before Delphine got here. He might not be in such a bad mood if he had not run into the diesel earlier; the reminder of the enthusiasts train combined with the stupidity of the tower had worked him into a real mood, and turning the trucks into stress relievers was an easy way to calm himself down.

Ever since the initial disagreement on her first day, Edward had been careful not to cause any more conflict with Delphine. He had seen how stressed Skarloey had been after falling out with Rheneas, and he didn't want that same worry and tension to infect the branch line. Besides, the blue engine knew it was not her fault for his current crisis, nor would it help blaming it on her. _You have to prove your worth on your own, not by taking anyone else down,_ Edward had thought when he had been at the Works himself, and it was a mantra he was trying to stick to.

Edward paused as he heard Delphine pull into the docks. The trucks were glaring at him, but the old engine felt calm enough to face his friend. "Hello again, Delphine," Edward called, glancing over as the diesel came to a stop beside him.

He knew instantly that something was wrong; Delphine was trying her best not to meet his eye, but that didn't stop Edward from noticing the tears that looked ready to stream down her face. "What on earth has happened?" He gasped.

"Nothing for you to worry about," Delphine replied quickly, her voice shaking.

"You can't fob me off that easily, I've been around too long, I know all the tricks," Edward said with a gentle smile. "You won't get past it by keeping it to yourself. Was there an accident?"

"No." Delphine sniffed, her lips quivering as she finally looked at Edward, and suddenly it all came spilling out. "I went to collect the coaches and I was trying to find the right ones in the yard but they all looked the same, and then I saw two brown and cream coaches and I thought they must be special since they were different colours, but when I coupled up to them, that green engine, Duck or Duke or whatever it is, he appeared and started yelling at me and called me all these nasty names, and if Barry hadn't intervened I think he would have kept on shouting and I felt so terrible and guilty as though I had committed some horrible crime…"

Delphine stopped to catch her breath, giving Edward a moment to catch up with her rapid-fire rant. He felt angry and hurt for her, but knew it was nothing compared to what she was going through; Delphine was quivering, jittering on her chassis out of some combination of anger, shock and fear.

"I am so sorry that happened to you," Edward said after a minute. "I must speak with Duck about it the next time I see him!"

"Please don't make a fuss. I'd rather we just moved on," Delphine said darkly.

"I insist! I would have thought he had gotten over this after so many years. He cannot target every diesel he sees, that is simply not on!"

"Over what?" Delphine asked, a touch of suspicion in her tone.

Edward sighed and rolled his eyes. "He just has a certain predisposition for clashing with diesels, has done for years now."

"Oh?"

"The thing with Duck is that he had a terrible experience with a diesel once. His name was, oddly enough, just Diesel, and he came into the yard and caused –"

"That's no excuse!" Delphine snapped.

Edward paused. He was taken aback by her anger, not sure why it was targeted at him. "It is not an excuse, but I am just pointing out Duck's perspective," he continued calmly. "He should not have snapped at you at all, but he –"

A growl cut Edward off mid-sentence. He paused and looked around, wondering where the noise was coming from. It took him a few moments to realise it was coming from Delphine, and when he saw the look on her face, he knew it wasn't coming from her engine.

"Every time I go to a heritage railway, I always I expect the engines to be kind and welcoming. They are just quaint old engines, what harm can they do? Yet every time I go to one, there is always at least one engine there that looks at me with hatred. I'm lucky if it's just the one, sometimes it's more. A few times all the engines have looked at me like I am there to take them away to the scrap heap.

"I know the stories. You always run into older diesels that still talk about the good old days. I know my class was built to replace steam engines, I know why steam engines don't like the idea of me, but that doesn't mean I have to put up with it! I am not like those engines. I have never been like them and I never will be, and I hate being placed in the same basket as them. I've met Duck's before, I don't care that he got angry with me. I care that it happened here of all places. I thought you would all know better."

Tension hung in the air. Out of the corner of his eyes, Edward could see the trucks watching silently, not daring to utter a single sound while Delphine was so enraged. The old engine himself was stunned by the degree of anger that came from the diesel, and for several minutes Edward remained silent, considering the best way to approach this. _She is meant to be taking the enthusiasts soon,_ he thought, glancing at the luxurious maroon coaches coupled behind her. _If she is still angry when it is time to leave, what good would it do?_

"Once again, I am truly sorry for what happened, and I am even more apologetic for all these engines that were rude to you on the Mainland. What I meant by bringing up Duck's past is that, much like the engines on the heritage lines, there are engines with certain pasts that have nothing to do with you. Their anger is not aimed at you but rather what they feel you represent, and the only way for us all to get past it is –"

"I should have known!" Delphine laughed as she rolled her eyes, but there was no joy in the cold, bitter noise. "Of course you would defend your friends over me! You're just like them!"

"What are you talking about?" Edward gasped. "I am not trying to defend them; I am simply pointing out that –"

"You don't even like me!" Delphine snapped.

"Now you know that isn't true. I was a bit upset by your arrival, I will admit, but I thought we had gotten past this."

"It's not so easy for some of us to get past," Delphine said, eyes narrowed. "I thought your best friend was a diesel."

"BoCo, he is, I don't see what that has to do with it this!" Edward huffed.

"Then why don't you like me?"

"Because I don't want to be replaced by you!" Edward spat out the words before he had time to consider them, but by the time they were out, he was already storming ahead. "I did not want another engine coming in and replacing me, taking my jobs, taking enthusiast trains I never get a chance to pull because they only go to engines like James that ruin them with their vanity! I am old but I am not on the scrap heap yet, so I was unhappy to see a diesel – yes, a diesel, something a bit easier to repair than a vintage steam engine – coming onto my line and stripping away my jobs!"

Edward had thought it had been quiet earlier, but when he finished speaking, he realised he had not experienced true silence, not for a long time. Delphine was looking at him with her mouth ajar and her eyes dark and bulging; the trucks were all watching with speechless, stunned faces; even a few of the dock workers were peering out from their office, wondering what the commotion was. Edward thought if he looked around he might see some seagulls judging him from atop the cranes, but he did not dare look away from Delphine, not once he had realised what he had said.

"Delphine, I – "

"These are your coaches," Delphine said quietly without a hint of emotion. "I was sent to collect these coaches for you. They didn't want to tire you out before you took the enthusiasts tonight, given how _vintage_ you are."

Edward was stunned silent once again. _For me?_ He thought, trying to understand what Delphine meant. Before he could, the diesel was uncoupled from the coaches and speeding off. Edward considered calling after her, but as quickly as she had arrived Delphine was reversing back towards the Main Line, shooting the old engine one last withering look before disappearing into the distance.

 _You fool, you utter, complete fool_ , Edward thought as he watched her go. He looked at the coaches, thinking of how much he had wanted these a few minutes ago, and now wished he could simply go back to shunting trucks. Dull work was better than tainted work, after all.

* * *

The station lights had turned on by the time Thomas pulled into Ffarquhar. He had barely noticed the sun setting, but as soon as he stopped, the tank engine turned his gaze to the clouds: the bright blue sky he so often compared to his own paintwork was gone, only a hint of it left between the dusky ambers around the setting sun and the rich shades of navy creeping towards it.

Thomas was surprised but relieved. Last time he had paid attention to the world it had been glowing, the sun radiating gloriously and undisturbed down onto his branch line. _That day went quicker than I expected,_ he thought as a wide, joyful smile crossed his face. He watched the enthusiasts clamber out of Annie and Clarabel and wondered if they too felt the day had rushed by.

Though none of them had reason to rush. This day was all about them, and they were here to get what they had paid for. No one had expected anything horrible to happen, a derailed coach here or angry protesters there. Their trip from Knapford to Ulfstead, with a brief detour to the quarry, had gone as smoothly as possible, as they had expected.

For Thomas, a smooth ride had been a hope. He had spent all day trying not to imagine fire appearing on the tracks around him that the day had simply slipped uneventfully past him, and he could not be more relieved. "We did it!" He called out to his coaches.

"Yes Thomas, we did it," Annie replied a touch sarcastically. "What is he on about?" She whispered loudly to Clarabel, forgetting Thomas was closer to her than her sister was.

"I don't know, Annie," Clarabel replied drolly. "He is being _very_ funny recently. Do you think something's wrong?"

"I'll find out. Thomas," Annie said without changing volume, "is something the matter?"

The tank engine laughed and tooted his whistle. "Not at all. Not. At. All."

Before Annie could probe any further, a chuffing noise sounded ahead, and she and Thomas watched as Percy rounded the bend and entered the station with an empty train of trucks trialling behind him.

"You all done for the day?" Percy chirped.

"Not quite. The enthusiasts are stopping here for some refreshments, and then I am taking them to Knapford where Barry is going to take them to Edward and Duck will take them to his line." Thomas rushed past the mention of Barry, not wanting to linger on what the tender engine had said last time the two had seen each other, not when he was having a better day than he had ever expected.

Percy nodded and smiled, but he couldn't keep the serious look out of his eyes. "Did everything go alright?" He asked quietly.

Thomas simply smiled. "Yes, everything went fine. I have no idea why I was worried."

"That's a relief," Percy said with a joyful sigh.

"You definitely were a big help with that," Thomas said. "I would have been a wreck if it wasn't for you calming me down."

"I was just trying to help," Percy said, blushing slightly. "That's what friends are for."

"You were right though, just like you were the other day. I haven't been a very good friend lately. I've been too caught up in all my own worries."

"You don't need to say that," Percy said. "I was in a bad place myself after that accident, but I am feeling a lot better now."

"Anything I can help with? Return the favour," Thomas added, making both engines laugh.

"Not really... it's just..."

"Percy, come on now. We're being honest, remember?"

Percy smiled through his sigh. "I just got thinking about what it might be like if I had never come to Sodor… if my life would have been better or worse."

"Worse, obviously," Thomas huffed. "You wouldn't have known me!"

"I know, I know," Percy replied sheepishly. "I don't regret coming here, I never would. But don't you sometimes ever stop and ask yourself how things could have been different?"

"No, not really. I always knew I would come to Sodor," Thomas lied. He could feel himself getting hot already, and his eyes darted about to check the station was not on fire.

"I mean, I know I got to laugh it off with Gordon and Henry, but the trouble I've had with the big engines over the years has been difficult at times, and the bad stuff can affect you just as much as the good stuff. I was in a dark place when this all came to me, and talking to Baron raised a few ideas, but I can't deny I went there for a reason. I mean, my life could have just as easily could have been worse - I could have been scrapped by now for all I know - but it also could have been better. I mean, where you always called Thomas?"

"Yes," Thomas said firmly. That was a fact; it was one thing he had never changed no matter what he had gone through.

"Well, I haven't always been Percy. And thinking about what I used to be, and what I could have been, it was a tough thing to stop and process and think about. There really is no telling just how different it all could have been, you know?"

"I suppose." Thomas was struggling not to say anything, something that was getting harder and harder with each passing second. Percy was looking at him so sincerely, so honestly, and here was Thomas sitting on a lie he had been keeping for a hundred years, a lie he was spinning right now.

"Are you alright, Thomas? You don't look good. Have I upset you? My thoughts have nothing to do with you, I swear!"

"No, you haven't!" Thomas said, unaware he was clenching his teeth. "I am just feeling quite hot, is anyone else feeling hot?"

"Hot?" Percy asked. "Not really, it feels quite cool."

"Are you sure everything's fine, Thomas?" Annie asked.

"Yes, I just feel a little under the weather." Thomas shut his eyes to try and calm himself and realised too late it was a mistake. Fire surrounded him again, fire that licked his wheels and curled around his buffers, fire that came with earth-shaking explosions that shook him to his frame.

When Percy spoke next, he sounded as though he was at the end of a long tunnel. "I don't think you should take the train the rest of the way."

"I am fine, I swear I am fine!" Thomas said firmly, opening his eyes and blinking rapidly to get rid of the last images of flames engulfing the station.

Before Percy or Annie could say anything else, the door to the waiting room crashed open. Everyone jumped in the tension of the moment, but they went unnoticed as the Fat Controller and Margaret MacMillan stormed onto the platform.

"– getting ridiculous, Margaret. You are holding the entire railway to ransom with these demands!"

"Don't be so flippant, Richard!" The politician scoffed. "I do not think it is unreasonable to put these poor people's minds at ease by giving them –"

"By giving them something they didn't pay for!" The Fat Controller interrupted. "This is a railway run by steam engines, and they have paid to be taken on these trips by _steam engines_."

"They paid for the experience of a trip on this railway, and that means staying on the tracks, not being flung into tunnel walls or into banks in some horrific accident!"

"Those accidents could happen to a diesel just as easily as they could happen to a steam engine."

Margaret laughed, the noise shrill and angry, and she finally turned towards Thomas and Percy. "Are you telling me one of these turn of the century antiques is as reliable as something built by people who are still alive? People who know about modern safety regulations rather than relying on what worked for everyone in the Depression!"

"You don't get to talk about my engines like this, and you certainly don't get to run my railway," the Fat Controller growled. "I am not changing tonight's plans, and that is the last I will hear of it!"

"You better hope so!" Margaret bellowed, pointing a thin finger at the controller as he stepped away. "You mark my words, Hatt – if anything happens to these passengers tonight, you will never hear the end of it!"

"I have to go." Thomas jerked backwards before he knew what he was doing, steam oozing out from his valves. Margaret yelped as she was engulfed by the sudden cloud, but Thomas felt no guilt for her. He had too many other thoughts to tend to. He could not see the flames but he could feel them, he could hear the explosions that had caused them, he could hear the whistles and sirens that had once only haunted his darkest nightmares.

"Thomas, you can't leave now, the enthusiasts!" Annie wailed, but Thomas ignored her, rushing backwards away from the platform as fast as he could, no care where he was going or what would happen next. He just had to get away.

"Come back, Thomas!" Percy yelled. "THOMAS!"

But the tank engine was already gone.

* * *

Darkness. Beyond the blinding lights of Knapford, all Barry could see was darkness. Night had well and truly fallen now, and in a few minutes, he would have to venture out into that black, great unknown. _How fitting,_ Barry thought drily as he stared into the abyss. _Heading down a long, dark path I can't see properly, I wonder what that feels like._

"You know, if you are going to sit there looking so glum, I could take those coaches for you."

Barry glanced coldly at Gordon. "I am fine with taking the enthusiasts. Thanks for the offer."

"Suit yourself," Gordon huffed. "You have been a right mood since you returned from your trip, did you know that?"

"I've had it pointed out," Barry replied, though no one had mentioned it to him yet. He had the feeling some of the engines might think it, but none had dared brave the subject when he was around. _Unless none of them wants to raise it with me._

"Are you missing travelling about?" Gordon asked in that carrying voice of his. "I think if I had spent so long going from railway to railway like that, I'd find it so dull to return and be back amongst the same old same old."

"You have no idea." Barry's mutter was drowned out by the sharp screech of a guard's whistle, and both engines watched as Duck set off from the far platform. His own deep whistle cut through the night, echoing in the silence alongside the rattling clatter of his coaches.

"I heard a rumour that you and Duck were fighting today," Gordon said, his carefree tone obviously put on. "Something about a diesel?"

"Something like that," Barry replied firmly.

Gordon smirked. "I get you. Duck and I have had our run-ins over the years. He is that sort of engine. Nothing you should worry about, really, but one to keep an eye on. I might not have crashed the other week if it wasn't for Duck's jokes."

Barry made no effort to respond but Gordon carried on regardless. "Though really, he wasn't joking in the end. I have gotten old, painful and dreary as it is to admit it. I have tried for years to pretend that things haven't changed, but it feels freeing to finally admit that I'm not the same engine I was fifty years ago"

Gordon finished, gazing pensively off into the night, but Barry had only just started paying attention. "What if you can't admit that things have changed, or don't really want to? What if you were happy with how things were?"

"Then you are stuck in the past," Gordon said plainly. "I don't know what you can do except move forward."

"And if you can't? Say there's something on the tracks in front of you, something huge you cannot possibly move around and your only choice is to stay where you are. What then?"

"Then you have to find a different track, I guess."

Before Barry could probe Gordon's mind any further, a whistle sounded behind him and the tender engine felt his brakes slip off. Whatever the delay had been in keeping him at the station had been cleared, and before Barry knew it, he was pulling out of the station.

"Have a good trip," Gordon yelled.

"I won't," Barry muttered, but his words were tossed aside by the slipstream that steadily built around him, and he merely sighed to himself. _Who knew Gordon could do so insightful?_

He gathered speed as he left Tidmouth behind, his wheels pounding the rails as he followed after Duck towards the tunnel. Barry couldn't see it yet in the evening light, but just thinking about it cast his mind back to Henry and the tunnel, the decades it had taken to help him get over his fear.

 _Some can change easily, but not everyone can. Is that what I've struggled with, trying to force acceptance on myself? Because I can't accept this, I can't be here when I don't know what 'here' is anymore. If I have to build a track around it, maybe then… maybe I should just leave._

The thought filled Barry with pain, but at the same time relief washed over him. _That would be the easiest option, wouldn't it? If I don't live on Sodor anymore, I wouldn't have to worry about Sodor. I can go to a heritage railway, one that isn't growing beyond its means, one that knows its place in the world and isn't asking for anything bigger. Then I can live in the past and move on. That would work, right?_

As the gaping mouth of the tunnel approached faster and faster, Barry pushed the thoughts aside. He had a job to do tonight and he should focus on that. Afterwards, he would have time to consider his options, but already Barry thought he knew the answer.

In the tunnel, everything echoed.

The second he had entered the tunnel's mouth, Barry was convinced the sound of breaking wood and screaming coaches were coming from him, and he slammed his brakes on before his crew even knew what was happening. It was only as his wheels screeched painfully against the tracks that Barry knew he the problem was not his. And that was when he really became worried.

"Duck?" The tender engine waited until the ghosts of his voice had faded before calling out again. "Duck, are you alright?"

It took nearly a minute before a feeble voice sounded from the southern end. "Barry?"

"It's me!" With a sigh of relief, Barry started moving again, edging slowly through the tunnel. The light of his lamp was just strong enough for him to see several coaches had derailed on the other track, but none appeared severely broken. _No major damage, not like with Henry_ , he thought, until he remembered the broken wood.

The dark glow of night soon got clearer, illuminating the end of the tunnel, and the closer Barry got, the worse the scene became. All the coaches at the front had jumped off the tracks, with one slumped against the tunnel wall with broken windows and smashed doors. Two had fallen close to his track, leaving only a slim space for him to pass by. Barry went slowly by undisturbed, but he could see shattered glass glinting under the glow of his lamp. He gulped as he rolled outside, knowing the real damage would be waiting for him.

The first thing Barry saw were the front two coaches: the first had jumped a complete ninety degrees off the track and appeared to have rolled, its roof caved in despite resting on its right side. The coach behind it had kept going and had smashed into its friend's chassis before being pushed on by the rest of the train, leaving it buckled in the middle. Barry could hear them moaning and it filled him with pain, but he rolled past knowing there was nothing he could on his own.

And then he saw Duck. The tank engine was laying on his side a metre from the track, grass and mud covering his face. The concrete base of a signal seemed to be the only thing that had stopped him from rolling entirely onto his cab, and even the pole had buckled under his weight. Two of his axles were broken, one of them nearly ripped from his frame, while a huge dent in his buffer beam gave a clue as to how the accident happened.

"Are you alright?" Barry knew it was a dumb question to ask, but in this moment he could offer nothing else. His crew had jumped down to check on Duck's, and he could see movement at Knapford so help would be on its way. All Barry could do was comfort the tank engine while they waited for Rocky to arrive.

"Of course I am not alright, I just drove into a boulder!" Duck snapped, his voice quivering.

Barry could not be mad with Duck's anger this time, not when this horror had unfolded. He looked down the tracks, checking for the rock. He gasped when he finally saw it a metre away; it seemed to have cracked from the force of Duck hitting it, but the boulder was still a solid metre tall, the sort of thing that could go right through your smokebox if you were going fast enough. _How did it end up here?_

"Don't worry, Duck, Wilson will be on his way soon. We'll have this accident cleared up in no time, and then we can get to the bottom of this."

Duck laughed, the last thing Barry had expected him to do. It wasn't joyful though; it was the most humourless laugh Barry had ever heard, one that made his firebox shiver.

"You don't understand. This wasn't an accident."

"What do you mean?"

"I saw them before I entered the tunnel. They were waiting at the end, watching, and when they saw me coming, they went out."

Barry had a feeling where this was going, but despite the dread that filled his tanks, he had to ask. "Went out? What are you on about?"

"Headlights," Duck spat, a sob breaking through. "A pair of them, big, square yellow eyes waiting for an engine to show up. A diesel did this, Barry, a diesel tried to sabotage my train."

* * *

 **A long delay between chapters, sorry about that! This marks the end of the first arc of the story - the next lot of chapters will see the Island dealing with the aftermath of this accident as tensions rise both on the tracks and behind the scenes.**


	10. Interlude: A Dawn at Dusk

**A Dawn at Dusk**

 _Crovan's Gate – Terminus of the Skarloey Railway_

 _Early 1916 – Exact Date Unown_

A whistle cut sharply through the early evening air, followed quickly by a heavy, exhausted cheer from the gathered workers. Tools were dropped where the men stood, and they quickly moved into line and began the slow walk to the waiting buses, a mournful march like a funeral procession. The sky was clear, the setting sun throwing beautiful shades of rusted amber into the air, but the way the men moved you'd think a storm was coming.

Edward could not blame them. He had pulled into the station mere seconds before the whistle sounded, yet it had been long enough to soak up the atmosphere that seemed to hover around the island. The railway construction was taking longer than people had expected, and the work was taking its toll. Tunnels had to be dug, track had to be lain, viaducts had to be strengthened, and there were few able bodied men left to do it. These were men who had escaped the battlefield, yet the construction site could just as easily prove the death of them.

"Do you mind if we leave you here tonight, Eddy? If we take you back to Vicarstown we'll probably miss the bus."

Edward looked at his driver standing on the platform and smiled. "That should be fine."

"Brilliant!" The boy clapped his hands in delight and ran back to the cab. A few seconds later Edward started rolling backwards, his trucks being dragged with him. The porter yelled out to his crew, and he had to jitter to a stop to allow him to be freed from the trucks.

 _Where do they keep finding these boys?_ Edward felt bad even thinking negatively about his crew, but his patience was running thin. He looked at the workers rushing to cross the tracks before he blocked their way, and beneath the dirt and sweat he saw a number of familiar faces. It seemed half the workers had served as his driver or fireman at some point, but none had lasted more than a week yet.

Edward sighed to himself as he trundled through the yard. He should have seen this coming. To his knowledge, he was the first engine of his size to run on the island, and no one here knew quite what to do with him. Those that did know he had left behind on the Furness Railway, and all the good stock on Sodor had been sent to the frontline.

Those who remained would learn in time, but as Edward's eyes scanned the men marching towards the buses, he wondered who would have the stamina. Overweight, underweight, crippled, unwell, too young and too old; these were the men left behind to build an entire rail network. It had probably seemed like a great challenge to them at first, the same way it had appealed to Edward when he heard about the burgeoning company looking to buy him, but the dream of working on a railway had quickly disappeared under the workload and the strain.

Edward knew how they felt. The blue engine knew he was not as modern or new as some engines being designed and built at this very moment, but he had thought there was still some mileage left in him. That was before he had had to race back and forth between construction sites all day carting trucks and workers wherever he went; a few months and he only felt worn out, and Edward doubted he would be of much use when the railway was finally done.

 _No wonder they wanted to sell me. They were probably relieved I was being taken out of their hands._ Edward sighed at the thought, his sadness draining away the last of his energy. He longed for a good rest. He longed for quieter work. He longed for a driver that had time to learn his intricacies, or at least how to be careful. Was that all too much to ask?

Thankfully, they soon left the workers behind and disappeared into the sidings. There were trucks everywhere, but Edward juddered over a set of points and saw space beside Skarloey and Rheneas in their shed. "Evening! How were your –"

"Shush, the young one is sleeping."

Edward quickly fell silent as he eyes skirted around. There were so many trucks around, most still overflowing with earth, that he had not noticed a little tank engine tucked away at the far end of the train. As Edward came to a stop, he could see the engine was fast asleep, little snores rattling through his whistle.

"My mistake," Edward whispered, smiling to his old friends. "I likely won't be much better company; I am about ready to pass out as well."

Skarloey sighed and rolled his eyes at Rheneas. "These young ones don't have much stamina anymore, do they?"

"No Skarloey, they don't build them like they used to," Rheneas said in agreement.

Edward was startled, but after a few moments his worn out mind finally caught up to the joke. The look of realisation on his face made the little engines laugh, and Edward managed to chuckle himself. He laughed all through his crew's final checks, and was still chortling when they leapt out of his cab.

"Bye!" He called out through his chuckles, and laughed harder when they didn't reply.

"Not getting any better than, are they?"

Edward looked at Skarloey and sighed, his humour fading away. "Unfortunately not. They try and very nearly achieve, but all the young ones are either too keen to head off to war or want to do something more hands on, and the old ones are too set in their ways to learn the delicacies of a new engine. They try to drive me like those coffee pots they've still got clanking about!"

"It takes time to learn," Skarloey murmured in agreement.

Rheneas snorted with laughter. "Of course you say that. I think Edward is a lot kinder on his crews than you were starting off."

Skarloey's face flushed as red as his paintwork. "That may be true, but at least the crew I had wanted to be there. We found our rhythm eventually. Maybe that's all you need, Edward."

"Perhaps," Edward murmured, smiling encouragingly even though he didn't feel it inside. Would he last long enough to find the right driver and fireman though? The perfect pair could be out there somewhere, but what of the railway, the war, his own wear and tear?

"Cheer up; you will probably be able to take our crew if this war carries on any longer," Rheneas grumbled.

"Traffic still slow?"

"So slow we might as well be going backwards," Rheneas said with an indignant snort.

Skarloey sighed in agreement. "We can carry on for now, but the manager is worried how much longer we can go before there is no money left for repairs."

"I am sorry to hear that," Edward said with a frown. "At least you will always have each other."

"Is that a good thing?" Rheneas said, eyeing his friend, and the three laughed again.

"The war's not really going to go on much longer, is it?"

The soft, quiet voice jolted the engines out of their humour. They had forgotten all about keeping quiet, and now found the tank engine watching them with wide shining eyes. Edward knew his name was Thomas, but despite working alongside him for several months, the two had barely spoken. They were both either too busy during the day or too tired at night the rare times they had ended up together, leaving little time to bond.

He was not sure what to make of the young engine, but right now, in the fading light of day, it was clear Thomas was frightened. His wide eyes shone out from the shadows, glowing with fear, and unless Edward was imagining it, the poor engine was quivering.

"No, of course not!" The tender engine said quickly. "From what I've overheard on the sites, the war might be over soon enough. There's nothing for you to worry about."

The fear did not disappear from his eyes, but Edward's words at least made Thomas smile. "I bloody well hope so. The war's gone on long enough. I mean, imagine if it reaches our shores; what are we meant to do then?"

"You two better get that railway built than before that happens," Rheneas said, eyebrows raised, and this time all four engines laughed.

"Do you think you will stay on Sodor when the railway has been built?" Edward asked.

"Oh, yes, hopefully," Thomas said with an excitable nod, suddenly awake and alert. "I like it here, more than the other places I've worked. It feels nicer… safer…" He trialled off, eyes widening again.

"You used to work around London, is that right?"

"Yes. There and then here. I prefer it here." Thomas spoke rapidly with a tone and look as if trying to convince Edward that was a fact. "I definitely don't want to leave any time soon."

"Really? That's surprising. I don't meet many young engines who want to stay in one place."

"Oh, well… I guess I'm not like other engines," Thomas said sheepishly, avoiding Edward's gaze. "Sodor seems like a safe, I mean, nice place to be. I'm happy being here. But, well…." Thomas paused and looked up at the darkening sky. "I guess eventually I'd like to see the world."

"You mean other countries?" Rheneas asked.

"I hope you don't think you can just head to any country you want willy-nilly. Not all countries can carry the same gauge as you," Skarloey said with a smirk, glancing knowingly at Rheneas.

"I'm sure he didn't mean that," Edward said with a slight glare at the older engines.

"Well, yes… maybe, I'm not sure," Thomas said, the words pouring out of his mouth. "I do want to see more. Different railways, different engines, different work. I don't want to be stuck in one place doing the same thing forever, or worse, doing nothing…"

"I know exactly what you mean," Edward said with an all too knowing smile.

"I have to get better though. Taking trucks back and forth is all well and good for now, but I want to be able to do everything," Thomas said, getting more animated. "That's all I have ever wanted, to be able to take the biggest trains there are in the whole wide –"

"Maybe take some smaller steps first," Edward interrupted, chuckling. "It's good to have goals, but you can't just go racing into everything head first. Things won't always work out perfectly even if you know what you are doing."

"You seem to have it sorted," Thomas said with a slight pout, but then he perked up again. "You can show me how to do it right!"

"I can?" Edward smirked and tried to avoid Skarloey and Rheneas' eyes. "I mean, I suppose I can show you a thing or two…."

"That would be _incredible_!" Thomas whistled sharply, making the trucks nearby jump in surprise. "Sorry!" He whispered back.

Yet his apology was drowned out by Edward, Skarloey and Rheneas laughing. Thomas looked stunned before he began to laugh too, and the four carried on like that for a long time, even as the trucks squawked at them to be quiet.

 _Maybe this is my future,_ Edward thought through the madness. _My gears may fail me and my wheels may fall off some day, but I will always have my experience. If I can't follow the next generation down the tracks, I can at least teach them the skills their crews never can._ With the happy thought imbued in his mind, Edward laughed with the rest of them, suddenly excited for what tomorrow might bring.

* * *

 **I wanted to get something out by the end of the year, and started writing the next chapter a week ago. This was to be the opening section, but realised as I neared the end it was a bit too long and unrelated to the core of the chapter to be a part of it. So enjoy this little interlude that looks at some of the story's key players before they all get swept up in the aftermath of the crash.**


	11. The End of It

**The End of It**

"You have to go back, Thomas. The enthusiasts are waiting for us. Thomas, are you paying attention to me? You have to go back! Clarabel, you say something!"

From somewhere behind him, Thomas heard a scolding female voice ring out through the silent night, but her words fell on deaf ears. Thomas was focused only on the tracks ahead of him. If he stared at the rails, eyes locked on the metal and wood, thinking about his wheels clacking and rolling over them, then he didn't have to think about anything else. He could just keep on going down the line until he reached the very end, and then keep going even further.

The sound of a phone ringing drew Thomas back to reality. "We'll be back soon, sir, just trying to get a handle on things…. Oh, Percy's going to take it? If you are sure, sir. Sorry about this. He's been acting odd for weeks, maybe you can talk to him when we get back?"

 _Please no._ Thomas shut his eyes, trying to block it all out again. He had left the fire behind at Ffarquhar, but the smoke still followed him; it lingered on him like dirt, the smell filling his nostrils and blocking everything else out.

 _It's imaginary, Thomas. There was no fire, there is no smoke. You know this, don't you?_

Thomas did, and that was what worried him the most, why he couldn't go back. He had thought that he was getting over this fear, but even something small like Margaret Macmillan's threats were enough to send him down this dark tunnel he could not get out of, how he could face himself let alone anyone else.

And so Thomas kept chugging. He had not paid attention to the stations and towns and bridges that he had passed, but as he fought against his own mind, a few familiar sights began to stand out: a tuft of grass to his right, a signal up ahead with a crack over the green light, one cottage that seemed perched right above the track at the top of a hill.

 _We're nearly at Knapford. We're nearly at the end of the line._ Thomas sighed, exhaling as much as he could to push away the smoke. He could keep going onto the Main Line, drive on until he was at Barrow and carry on past there, but he knew he couldn't. He had caused enough trouble tonight as it was without completely running away. The only thing he had to fear now was what the Fat Controller would say when he caught up him; unlike phantom flames haunting his dreams, the man in the top hat could actually make his life a misery.

 _How can I explain it to them without telling them the whole truth?_ Thomas shut his eyes to his thought, and for a moment felt the fire licking his wheels again. If he told them the truth, Percy, Annie and Clarabel, The Fat Controller, they'd all see why, but would they accept it? To explain his actions would be to give up his secret, and Thomas was not ready for that; not now, not ever.

"Something's going on."

Thomas heard the murmur from his cab but paid it little attention. However, the silence he had become accustomed to had vanished, replaced by faint shouts and the whirr of machinery. The noise got louder and louder, and by the time he reached the station, Thomas could not ignore it any longer.

Chaos. That was the only word for it. Spotlights sat on the side of the Main Line, illuminating the mouth of the tunnel with stark white circles. Men were standing on the tracks, which confused Thomas until he saw Wilson and Rocky; but if there was a crash, where was the engine? He could see a coach, but on second glance Thomas realised it wasn't on the track, and the horror set in.

"Those coaches are off the rails."

"What? Coaches off the rails?"

"What's off the rails?"

"Coaches, Clarabel, _coaches_!"

"Coaches!"

Thomas felt his firebox sink down to his wheels. He barely noticed as his crew leapt onto the platform and sprinted towards the offices. He tuned out Annie and Clarabel. He forgot all about the fire in his mind. He didn't need his dreams to feel scared right now; he only had to look at Duck lying upturned next to the rails, his coaches in a mess like discarded toys, Rocky's arm reaching for the stars. His dreams were just that, dreams; this was a true nightmare.

"Hello, Thomas."

The tank engine jumped, so caught up in the chaos that he had thought he was alone, but now he could see Barry, eyes heavy and face mournful, peering out from a siding.

"What happened?"

"Boulder sitting on the tracks. Can you see it?"

Thomas looked at the scene again and spotted it instantly; nearly hidden in the darkness, a large unhewn stone the size of a small car rested on a crumpled bush.

"How did that get here?" Thomas whispered.

"That's the rough part, Thomas," Barry said, his voice cracking. "Duck said… he said he saw headlights at the end of the tunnel. He said they reversed away when he entered from the other side, and when he came out…" His voice trailed off there.

Thomas couldn't blame him. He was struggling to comprehend the crash as it was, but if he was following what Barry had said… "Do you mean… there's a chance that the boulder was put there deliberately? That a… that a… a…."

"A diesel?" Barry's hoarse voice cut through the night; the way he said it made Thomas shiver. "Yes, Thomas, that's exactly what Duck is thinking."

Fire exploded around him. Thomas didn't shut his eyes to it this time; he just let the flames burn. He could not see them. Only feel them. The heat touched his wheels, his buffers, his cab; his whole body seemed to burn, but Thomas could only see the darkness pressing in as fear settled in his boiler, fear he couldn't bring himself to move.

* * *

Rheneas awoke with a start and found himself in darkness. The old engine blinked, wondering if this was still part of his dream or not before distant balls of light began to come into focus. _Lamps,_ he thought reassuringly and breathed out. Already the dream was slipping away from him, but it had been something cold and uncomfortable that had left him with a profound sense of loneliness.

 _Now what woke me up?_ The only thing Rheneas could remember was a crash like glass breaking, something that had felt out of place in his dream world. With eyes adjusted to the faint light barely illuminating the yard, Rheneas peered into the yard. He was not in a great position; facing away from the station and the Works, he could see only the dirt riddled sidings that marked the end of the line for the Skarloey Railway and the open tracks of the Main Line. From his poor vantage point, Rheneas could see nothing, but a second sound, that of glass tinkling across stone, made him jump.

 _There are people in the yard._ Rheneas tried his best to focus but the most he could see were shadows dancing through the night, black smears on the navy darkness. The glass was joined by faint shouts and laughter that combined to paint a picture even if he couldn't see it.

"Stupid children," Rheneas muttered, rolling his eyes. Teenagers were often caught loitering around stations at night. It was the sort of behaviour that had been severely punished back when Rheneas was young, but over the decades, misbehaviour had become more frequent to the point where no one even bothered to stop it anymore.

 _There's no respect for railway property anymore._ Rheneas watched as the teens moved further into his line of sight. He was tempted to shout at them, give them a fright, but he didn't want to draw attention to himself. Sometimes the yard manager would arrive in the morning to find trucks defaced with rubbish around their wheels. Rheneas had no idea what time it was, but he hoped he could go back to sleep before morning came, something that would be difficult with teens adding their own touches to his paintwork.

 _I'll tell driver in the morning,_ he decided, and shut his eyes, trying to block out the misbehaviour. _Why can't they find something else to do with their time? This would never have happened in my youth. Nancy's generation knew the value of a hard day's…_

Rheneas paused mid-thought, his eyes slowly falling open. _Oh, Nancy. If only you could see us now_. The tank engine turned to his right, eyeing the covered part of the shed. Skarloey was somewhere in there or sitting right behind him, he wouldn't know. He had heard his old friend returning earlier but Rheneas had made no effort to greet him, just as he had made no effort over the past month to talk to him at all.

If Nancy had been here, she would have made them talk it out, sitting on her little stool waiting until they were on speaking terms again. Part of Rheneas hoped that would happen, that Nancy would walk around the corner with a bucket and rags rolling her eyes; 'What's the matter now?', he could imagine her shouting before she had even gone past the station. The thought warmed his empty firebox, but Rheneas knew it would never happen again.

He missed Nancy, but he missed Skarloey even more. The last few weeks had felt like some of the longest in Rheneas' life, with whole days spent feigning sleep in a futile attempt to avoid the tension that hung between them. Rheneas could end it at any time, but he had a point to prove. For decades he had had to put up with Skarloey's selfishness; it was not as bad as it had been in their early days, but every so often, Rheneas was reminded of that cocky young engine bouncing about or boasting about his cab. Those feelings seemed to lay dormant for years on end, but whenever they resurfaced, Rheneas realised that they never truly left, that they were only ever one argument or disagreement away from coming back to the surface –

"Bloody hell!"

A high pitched voice cut through the night and stopped Rheneas mid-thought. Footsteps and screeches filled the yard, and Rheneas realised the teenagers were coming towards him. He shut one eye, hoping they wouldn't see him, but thankfully they sprinted right past the sidings. Rheneas sighed with relief, a noise he could barely hear over the loud, spluttering noise that had replaced the breaking glass. He looked around, wondering which diesel it was, but there were no headlamps or anything to signify who it was. The noise got louder and louder until it felt like it was right beside him, and at the last moment, Rheneas saw a large shadow race noisily past.

"Strange," he mumbled. He wasn't sure why a diesel was skulking about with no lamps on, but Rheneas knew it was probably none of his business. A malfunctioning diesel was hardly a cause for concern just yet.

 _I think that's enough excitement for one night._ Rheneas stared out at the yard, listening, and smiled when nothing but the faint call of an owl came back to him. Sighing peacefully, he shut his eyes, pushing away all thoughts of Skarloey and the boys and the mysterious diesel, and was soon dreaming once more.

* * *

The harbour always unsettled Edward at night. He knew an engine of his age could not afford to be afraid of shadows and strange objects, but whenever he found himself alone with the moon reflecting off the obsidian ocean, a chill ran through his pipes. The creaking cranes, the groaning boats, the faint caws of lone gulls; darkness distorted everything. Edward had long wondered if it was the harbour fighting back, longing to return to its natural state of noise and chaos and business in action.

Edward was usually able to push aside the initial fear and roll his eyes at his own foolishness, but tonight, he couldn't ignore the darkness. Part of him wished he had not asked his crew to park him near the station; they had looked baffled by his request, and Edward could sense their feelings now. The shadowed trucks were all asleep but it felt like rows of walls were enclosing Edward, while any sound, sinister or otherwise, was amplified by the clear and silent night.

He may not be able to relax here, but there was no way Edward would have slept if he had been in his shed. Every thought not occupied by movements in the night was occupied by Delphine. Her face as she had left the yard – distressed, distraught, disappointed all in one – haunted Edward as much as the shadows did. She had not been seen since, and Edward's imagination had leapt to the worst possible conclusions. He had hoped for the enthusiasts work to distract him, but a call had come down the line saying the train was cancelled, so Edward did not even have that to busy himself with.

 _Where are you, Delphine?_ The old engine thought, staring hopelessly out into the night. He wished for a good answer, but Edward could only imagine the diesel lying upturned on the side of the track, or being whisked away to the Works, or worse.

As the fearful thought crossed his mind again, a loud grunt suddenly cut through the night. Edward bolted awake, staring eager and curious up the line. Glaring yellow lights appeared around the corner, and a minute later Delphine was rattling towards him.

"Delphine!"

She screeched to a stop just short of the trucks. Edward put on his most sincere smile, but he could not tell if Delphine was looking at him or had merely stopped in shock.

"Delphine, I am terribly sorry for everything I said earlier. I hope you know I did not mean a word of it. I sincerely hope you can forgive me. If there is anything I can do to make it up to you, just let me know."

Silence followed, stretched out and contorted by the darkness. The seconds passed by like centuries. Edward waited nervously as his pipes twisted in knots. She had to know how sorry he was, he could not carry on thinking he was hated.

Then, finally, a single, whispered word made its way across the yard. "Anything?"

Edward was taken aback; it was not the response he'd expected, but he appreciated anything that wasn't more rage. "Yes, anything."

Suddenly, Delphine was sobbing. It was not the same sound she had made that afternoon; there was no anger here, only anguish. It was chilling, more unsettling than the towering silhouette of the nearest crane hanging above their cabs.

"Delphine, what's wrong?" Edward whispered. This was worse than anything he had imagined, but the old engine knew that whatever happened next, he had to be here for her. It was the only way he could make it up for what he had done.

"I did something bad, Edward… something really bad…"

* * *

The crash lasted barely a minute from beginning to end. The clean-up operation lasted the entire night. The secret barely lasted until daybreak.

As liquid liquorice gave way to denim blue in the sky, the true extent of what had happened was revealed. Crash scene investigators from the Transport Ministry had arrived not long after Thomas had reached Knapford, and they had photographed everything: Duck lying on his side, the upturned coaches, the glass scattered over the tracks, the buckled signal, and finally, the rock, a mild crack all that confirmed its role in the accident.

The whole scene had been snapped, yet as the spotlights were taken down and natural light poured through the tunnel, the weight of it became clear. The wreckage had been removed, but the daylight revealed a muddy smear covered the bank, the corpses of crushed bushes waiting at the bottom. The investigators stood on the silent tracks staring at the stain across the landscape, all of them wondering the same dreadful thing.

Sunlight seeped into the Fat Controller's office, but even as the beams hit his face, he remained in his slumber until a sudden chorus startled him awake. Surprise gave way to momentary confusion, and then the memory of the previous night hit and Richard slumped in his chair, exhausted and morose. He stared bleary-eyed around the room for the source of the noise half a minute before his bloodshot eyes landed on the radio on his bookshelf.

 _"… witnesses say that the engine was lying on its side with several carriages piled behind. Investigators are not discussing the cause of the crash, but several incidents earlier this year have raised questions about the safety of the infrastructure on the railway."_

Richard groaned, chaffed hands rubbing the crick in his neck. He had thought that his nightmare of a week had peaked last night outside the Ffarquhar waiting room, but that was a mere nuisance compared to what would unfold today. He had arrived at the scene last night with his heart thumping somewhere in his throat, a pounding that intensified the closer he got to Duck. His one consolation was that if the accident had had to happen, it had at least happened then. The stone had not cost anyone their life, but, as the radio bulletin carried on blaring Richard's mistakes back to him, it may well have cost him his job.

The radio bulletin was damning, but nothing was more powerful than the scene itself. His aides hid the front page of _The Sodor Times_ from the controller for as long as they could, but they could not hide it from the hundreds of people sitting down for breakfast over their Sunday paper. By the time the sun had fully risen, a hazy photo of the crash site lay across almost every kitchen bench and dining table on the island.

As the boulder had done to Duck, the photo upturned weekend plans. Those tired from a week of work were suddenly energised, the news sending a current through the island. Sundays usually saw the whole island come to a lazy stop, but not even church could silence the conversation; as soon as the sermons were over, they were forgotten as the congregation gathered in the car park, only one tale on their minds.

The railway was not immune to the fast flow of the news, but the effect was entirely different. While the island's residents viewed the crash with a pack mentality of horror and confusion, the engines were simply sombre. Those who were meant to be sleeping the day away sat awake in their sheds. No one said a word to each other, all trying to think of their fallen friend but one question kept getting in the way; what if that had been them?

For those working, it was a different story entirely. Passenger trains were normally quiet on Sundays, mostly made of young families and teenagers heading out for the day. Yet almost instantly, the news of the crash made its effect known. Bertie arrived at his first stop at Ffarquhar to find a long queue stretching past the pole. The opposite was felt across the road when Daisy found less than a dozen people waiting for her, most of whom eyed her coldly as she approached the platform.

On the slopes of Culdee Fell, there was hardly a Sudrian voice to be found as Eric made his slow crawl to the Summit. The Electric Lady had passed on word of the accident, but the mountain engine did not put two and two together as to why his coach was so light today.

It was not as easy to avoid for Rex. Only a handful of tourists disembarked from Molly's coaches, the children excited but their parents apprehensive. It seemed cruel for all the railways to be lumped in together like this, but Rex could not avoid the tension that hung over them like a cloud, and when he did leave with his shortly after, he could not take his eyes off the shed where he knew Oliver was resting quietly without his friend.

"Maybe it was sabotage," James hissed to Cole as a half dozen scowling passengers made the journey between their two trains. "People have had it in for the railway for weeks; one of them could have put the boulder on the tracks. It makes sense!"

"Who would want to derail a steam engine?" Arianna scoffed to Gordon when the news reached the Mainland. "All that effort to move a stone that big, for what purpose? It's ridiculous!" She laughed, rolling her eyes as she trundled away, leaving Gordon to wait for his passengers, even if the platform was nearly empty.

"Was it part of the tunnel?" Daisy mused, more to herself than Flora as the pair waited for the overflowing bus to get over the level crossing. "Just because the Fat Controller said the railway is up to code doesn't mean every part of it is. I mean, I may know how to stay on the tracks, but it seems very few of our friends can."

"I don't know what to believe, wee laddie. I don't think I want to believe any of it. I just want my friend back."

Douglas' sigh carried through the yard. He and Rheneas were the only engines in Crovan's Gate outside of the Works. The doors of the workshop were open, but Wilson and Rocky's snoozing frames blocked the entrance. If Rheneas strained his aged eyes though, he thought he could see a tall funnel poking above them both, but it might have been his imagination hoping for a good sign.

He turned his focus instead to the mournful Scotsman next to him. "Don't worry, Douglas. I have seen engines in worse shape go into those sheds and come out smiling on the other side. It's a nasty thing that's happened, but I just know Duck will be alright in the end."

"Ach, I hope so," Douglas said wearily. "I can see why the other engines want answers though. It be too much to think that someone may have done this to us."

Rheneas did not want to entertain conspiracy theories so merely smiled supportively. "If there are people investigating, I am sure they will have answers for you soon."

"Aye, but what if they cannot find anything?" Douglas wheeshed. "Whoever did it would not want to be found, aye?"

"Well yes, I suppose that is true…"

"They should be asking you engines; no one can get past ye wee ones, you're always here, watching us."

Douglas began to laugh and started talking about the engines as though they were spies, but Rheneas heard none of it. He had not given his dream last night a second thought, but now it had been pulled back to the front of his mind, the engine could not ignore it anymore.

"You've gone awfully quiet," Douglas said, smirking, but the humour quickly left his eyes. "Aye, what is it, laddie? Did you really see something?"

Rheneas paused. Was he really going to put this out into the world for all to contemplate and judge? If he was wrong, he did not want to imagine the consequences. But if there was a small chance that unlit, noisy diesel had been involved…

"Yes, Douglas, I think I might have seen something, actually…"

* * *

Night could not come soon enough for Richard Hatt. Never had the walk from his office to his car been so welcome. He had just lived through the longest twelve hours of his career and still his day was not over, but at least he could leave his office behind for the day. Richard had been planted in his chair since the moment he had collapsed in it last night in a daze fuelled by exhaustion, shock and fear. Those same feelings had followed to him all day as he fielded certain calls and dodged others; a general fatigue after weeks of harassment, the lingering horror at the seriousness of the crash, and concern for what came next.

Even now, as Richard tipped his hat to his assistant and went to unlock his car door, he could still hear Margaret's threat from last night. _I'll never hear the end of it, she said,_ Richard thought, pausing with his hand on the door handle. _She will use this to her advantage, even if no one was hurt, you mark my words. But how she will, that's the worry…_

Richard sighed. He had no time to think about her now. The sun may be setting, the sky a painting of pale gold, but there was still time to visit Duck's crew at the hospital and pay his respects. Then it was dinner and straight to bed because all too soon he would be back here, more newspapers, more bulletins, more phone calls and who knows what else waiting for him.

Sighing at the thought, Richard pulled the door open and put one foot into the car, and that was when the noise began.

"A DIESEL, A DIESEL!"

The Fat Controller froze, for a moment wondering if his breakdown had begun, if he had really just heard that. And then the rest of it began; multiple voices yelling with increasing volume rapidly drowned out by whistles and horns that rose to an unbearable pitch and stayed there. The controller did not linger a moment longer. He stepped away and kicked the door shut, marching briskly towards the symphony of chaos erupting behind him. _What is it now, what the bloody hell is it now?_

Richard walked in a blind fury, everything passing in a blur. The noise only got louder and louder, trapped as it was by Tidmouth's high, curved ceiling; the glass captured everything and sent it back, a thunderous echo that normally added a grand eloquence to the station, but tonight simply made the nightmare below more real.

Yet, despite the deafening noise, Richard expected to find some trivial matter he could disperse with, like smoke he could simply waft away. The thought seemed more unlikely the closer he got, but Richard clung to it. He needed a win today of all days. He needed them to prove him wrong.

Yet when he finally reached Gordon, his fears were confirmed. Six engines were waiting alongside the platforms, but from the cacophony they had created, you would think the whole fleet was here. Richard stared slack-jawed between Gordon, James, Bear, Emily and Douglas, watching as they screamed at each other, whistles and horns competing for dominance as rage burned in their eyes. Even Edward could be heard clearly from the opposite end of the station, the calmness Richard had known his whole life gone as the old engine roared with the rest, his face as red as his stripes.

For too long, he watched the scene as if replaying a bad dream, his heart pounding angrily inside his ears, but as Richard's eyes moved from engine to engine, he noticed a face in the midst of it all; a lone passenger, fear and confusion clear on her face from afar. And before he even knew what he was saying, Richard lunged to the edge of the platform.

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE!"

Somehow, his voice punctuated the angry noise. It cut off, a song paused mid-chorus, quiet tension instead swelling inside the station. The engines all looked awkwardly at the controller, but their eyes still flickered in silent judgement between each other. Richard said nothing, simply crossing his arms and demanding an answer with his body language, all the while his eye twitching madly.

Finally, the tension proved too much. "Sir, there is a rumour going around," Emily piped up with a confidence that quickly withered under his gaze.

"A rumour? I've heard plenty of those today."

"They seem to think it was a diesel that did it, sir," Bear said with frosty testiness.

"Rheneas told me when I was waiting at the platform," Douglas added, though he did not meet Bear's gaze.

"A diesel? _A diesel_?" Richard maintained his stance, refused to let those two words bother him. But how could the engines have known what Barry had told him last night?

"Aye sir, Rheneas heard one slinking past the Works the middle of last night," Douglas explained. "It was making an awful racket. No headlights, either."

"And what do we know of a noisy, broken diesel currently residing near the Works?" Gordon said to the gathering as his eyes turned to James.

"Baron is not to blame! His engine failed last night, it can't have been him," James snapped back. "What about _your_ new friend?" He said, looking to Edward.

"It wasn't Delphine, she was in the shed all of last night," Edward replied with vigour.

"And don't even think of blaming anyone else on this island!" Bear fired back bitterly.

James and Douglas started speaking at the same time, and they both yelled to be heard over Emily and Gordon, and quickly it was starting again.

"STOP THIS!" Richard roared. He ignored the engine's angry glares and instead raised a stubby finger at them. "Now you all listen here and listen carefully. No diesel did this. No steam engine did it. No double decker bus or steamroller or lorry did this. The investigators found a gaping hole right above the tunnel, the rough size of the boulder Duck hit, with a smear through the earth which suggests it rolled down the hill and onto the tracks. This was an accident – a terrible one, but an accident nonetheless. Now I want you to tell that to every engine you see, and I want this fighting to stop. One of your friends is at the Works for who knows how long. You should all be thinking of him rather than fighting about who to blame!"

Richard stormed away without waiting for their reaction. They might hate him for it, but right now he didn't care. It was not their rage that worried him; at least theirs would pass soon enough. For the rest of the island, that was still up in the air.

"Well, well, well, what was all that about?"

Richard stopped mere metres from his car. A chill ran down his spine as he turned slowly towards the speaker. He had not noticed Margaret leaning against the wall near his office, but she had been doing a good job of hiding; her cream coat blended in with the wall, a perfect camouflage for someone looking to snoop.

Richard should have been angry; she was standing there, a triumphant smirk on her face, malice burning in her eyes, swaggering her way towards him. He should have been angry, to think what this woman had down to him and his railway. He should have been angry, but Richard was beyond anger now.

"If I ever see you on North Western Railway property again, I will have you reported to the transport police for trespassing."

Margaret paused, her smirk thinning. "You can't have me barred."

"This is my railway, I am manager and chair of the board. I don't care if it's illegal, I'll change every rule I can if it means never having to see your face again."

Richard turned and made the last few steps towards his car. His blood was racing, he could feel it buzzing around his body. He flung open the car door and climbed inside, but paused before closing, his eyes locking with Margaret's again.

She watched him for a moment before hitching her bag under her shoulder. "For now," she purred, and turned and walked past the station.

Richard said nothing. He slammed the door and jammed the key into the ignition. He tore past her a moment later, forcing her to slide against the wall to avoid him. Richard watched her shocked face disappear in his rearview mirror and he smiled. He was done being angry. He was done being tired. He was sick of being blamed. If she wanted a war, he was more than ready to give her one.

* * *

The Main Line had been re-opened once the investigators had ensured there had been no damage down to the tracks. The broken signal had been taken away and a temporary one stood in its place. The bank was still torn up, and an earthy smear would remain for some time, but in the fading light it disappeared.

All in all, there was nothing left to remind anyone the crash had happened. Yet Thomas could not stop looking at the scene.

 _That could have been me._ The thought had followed him around all day, as though it too was coupled behind him. When Thomas had returned to Ffarquhar last night, the crash had haunted his dreams; Duck lying in a burning field while a giant spotlight chased the blue engine as he tried to flee the scene. Thomas had woken up in a panic, the sun seeping through the door enough to send a shiver through him, and he had remained like that all day.

For weeks, it had seemed like Thomas' fears had been coming true. Edward, Henry, Gordon; the accidents only got worse and worse. For weeks, the tank engine had been trying not to let his fear consume him, he had been trying to leave the past where it belonged. But if what Duck had seen last night was true, if there really was someone behind this all, then what did that mean for Thomas? It felt as though a curse had engulfed the island, and Thomas had to wonder how much of it was because of him.

A friendly whistle sent Thomas jolting out of his thoughts. "Sorry, didn't mean to frighten you," Barry said apologetically. "I seem to be doing that a lot."

"You didn't," Thomas panted, trying to compose himself. "I was just… just lost in thought."

"Of course," Barry mumbled, and both engines looked towards the empty scene. The two had sat like this most of last night, hours spent watching it all unfold, only leaving when Duck, eyes half shut, frown covering his face, was whisked away by a mournful Wilson.

The silence stretched on. There were only a few dozen passengers between both trains, but none of them were in a rush, all milling about on the platform looking at the crash themselves, and the porters were too tired to shoo them along. A calm quiet rested over the station, and for the first time all day, Thomas felt content. He wasn't sure why, but being back here, looking at the site again, no flames burning in the night, part of him felt reassured.

As his mind fell to ease and his eyes gazed around the station, Thomas began to find the whole situation oddly familiar. Barry, the passengers, the night's sky. Quickly, it hit him. The two had met like this several months ago, back when Barry had first returned, when he passed on the message from his travels. For all these weeks of being dogged by a stranger's threat, Thomas had never contemplated Barry's role in it all. He should be afraid of what his friend might know, but instead Thomas felt a strong urge for answers.

"It's funny seeing you tonight. I was just thinking earlier about what you told me on your first day back," Thomas said with an air of false casualty.

"Hm?" It took Barry a few moments to tear his eyes away from the crash, and when he finally turned to Thomas his eyes were blank. "What are you – oh right, that! You mean what the engine said, from the heritage railway?"

Thomas forced himself to laugh. "Yeah, that one."

"I'd completely forgotten about that," Barry said, looking to the skies as though the memory might be there. "It was odd, that. I can't even remember where I was."

"Oh really?" Thomas said in a tone he hoped hid his disappointment. He needed something, anything, to help him put this all to rest. Something to help him sleep at night.

"Some of those heritage engines were like that, though," Barry continued, smirking coldly. "Some of them haven't gone further than a couple of miles once a week for decades. Most of the engines are happy not to be on a scrap heap, but for a lot of them, even that isn't enough."

Thomas' nodded solemnly. It always put his own problems into perspective thinking about what his fellow engines had gone through. "It must have been difficult seeing all that up close. I bet you're glad to be back."

The question hung in the air. It took Thomas a few moments to realise Barry hadn't replied. He went to ask it again, wondering if the tender engine had become distracted again, but Barry interrupted him.

"I'm not sure, really." The words came out short and curtly. Barry did not meet Thomas' eye, instead looking at the crash site. "To tell you the truth, it's actually been strange coming back… very strange, actually. Everything just feels… different. I can't really get my head around it. The engines, the construction, the stations. I look around every day and notice something different, something new, and I can't find a place for myself amongst it."

"I know what you mean."

"Really?" Barry said, surprised.

"Oh, of course. Everything is changing all the time around here. New engines, new lines. Sometimes it feels like a bit much. I remember when it used to just be me on this line. I loved the work, but I never realised how much I was doing. Then Toby came, and then Percy and the harbour, and then Daisy, and now we've got Rosie, Flora and Titan. Sometimes I stop and realise how crowded it has gotten, how I used to do passengers and milk and stone all on my own. But if the Fat Controller turned up tomorrow and said we were going back to how things were, well," Thomas laughed, "I'm not sure I'd be able to cope!"

Barry smiled and managed a strained laugh himself. "I get that, but I guess you've never been out of things for as long as I was."

"Well, that's not quite true," Thomas said, thinking. "I rarely go on the Main Line, even though I helped to build the darn thing, so every time I go along there I can see how different everything looks. New roads and houses and restored branch lines; every trip is something different."

Barry didn't say anything at first, his eyes falling mournfully down to his buffers, but after a strained minute stretched slowly by, he spoke again, his words coming out cracked and wobbly. "How do you cope then?"

Thomas was struck dumb. _How do I cope? Well, I haven't been_. Thomas could see Barry watching him though, wide eyes pleading for an answer; he couldn't tell Barry about the fire that haunted his every dream, or the fear he felt for his age and his secret, the sense that he wasn't special anymore. Thomas wanted to say something reassuring but how could he be when all this was going on? _You have to say something. Pretend the last few weeks haven't happened; what would you say then._ And in an instant, Thomas knew his answer.

"Because this is our home. It may be changing every single day, but Sodor will always be our home. If we don't have that, then what else do we have?"

A pair of whistles sounded in near unison the second Thomas finished speaking. There was no time for him to gauge Barry's reaction, but he caught a small smile from the tender engine as he slipped out into the night, and Thomas found himself grinning after him.

He headed back up the line in silence. It was dark, but in the glow of his lamp, Thomas could see a few familiar sights: a cottage rising from the top of a hill, the back of a signal glowing green in the other direction, a tuft of grass fluttering in the breeze. Thomas recognised everything, and with each moment of recognition, his smile grew.

"That was a nice thing you said to Barry," Annie called out after a while.

"That's because it's true," Thomas whispered. He was glad the coaches were not facing him; he did not want them to see the tears streaming over his smile. _This is our home_. Somehow, in all of this, he had forgotten what that really meant. He looked across the fields and the banks and the towns and knew this was where he belonged.

 _No one has to know what I did. This is Sodor; that was one hundred years ago. I can't live in the past. This is my home, and no one can say I don't belong here._

Part of Thomas knew it would not be so simple if anyone found out, but right now he was the happiest he had been in weeks. Percy had been right; nothing bad would happen unless he expected it to, and there was no reason for his past to come up. There was a real threat coming their way, but Thomas knew that his friends, his family, would all be able to handle it, and he clung to that thought all the way back to his sheds and into his empty dreams.

* * *

 _There is something near you._

Cyclone woke up startled. Everything around him was dark; the only light the blue glow of the moon pouring through the windows and a crack in the door. _I heard something,_ he thought, quivering, but as he gazed out into the workshop, all he saw were shapes.

The engine stared into the darkness, wondering if it was his imagination or not, but his eyesight was not helping. His vision had been blurry for weeks, he could only see things clearly when they were right in front of him. His hearing was fuzzy as well; noises sounded either incredibly distant or unsettlingly close. He was incomplete, he knew, still being put together. He didn't understand what it all meant, but he did feel an emptiness that he could not put down to the cold of his hollow, untouched tubes.

There were no other sounds. Cyclone felt unsettled, but he had to admit he was always waking up and dozing off at odd times; one second there would be four engines in the shop, the next only two, a moment later nothing but a swarm of workers. Cyclone didn't like feeling this disoriented. It only added to his sleepiness. He was certain this was different, and he stared out into the darkness as long as he could. Seconds turned into minutes, and with a droopy pout, he admitted defeat.

 _I'll mention it tomorrow,_ he thought, his eyes falling shut.

He awoke a moment later. This time Cyclone knew he was not imagining it: there was a sound, a voice, he thought, coming from the front of the workshop. He strained to hear

"… better job!"

"I did it as best as I could." A second voice growled in an echoing hiss. "You got what you wanted, didn't you?"

"For now," the first replied quietly, coldly.

Cyclone was scared, curious, excited, all at once, but it only made him more tired. It came in waves, and Cyclone could never stay awake when he wanted to. He tried to listen, but his eyelids were falling shut, the darkness coming in, the words fading out.

"I can work with this for now, but if you want what I am offering you, then we need to burn this railway to the ground before the polls open, you hear me?"

 _No, I don't_ ¸ Cyclone thought vaguely. The conversation could have carried on, but for him, it ended there. His eyelids fell shut and did not open until sunlight was streaming into the Works. As workers busied about him, Cyclone strained to remember what he had dreamt before the effort sent him back to sleep.


	12. Square Face

**Square Face**

Toby awoke to the sound of creaking doors. For a brief second he wondered why someone was coming into the sheds so late at night, but when he opened his eyes he had to shut them just as quickly, sunlight pouring into his berth.

"You alright there?" The firelighter asked, catching his discomfort as he passed.

"Oh yes, I'm quite alright thank you," Toby replied politely, but the second the man had moved on, Toby squinted and looked down at his buffers, trying to ignore the glare. He had been fast asleep less than a minute ago and already felt groggy and disoriented from the unwanted wake-up call, vague memories from his dream still swirling around the forefronts of his mind.

"Don't you just hate it when this happens?"

Toby glanced at Thomas. "I don't mind. We all have to wake up at some point."

"I know, but a few extra minutes never hurts," Thomas laughed. "You're normally awake before any of us though."

"Yesterday must have been a longer day than I had realised," Toby dismissed kindly. "Flora is taking the workers to the quarry this morning anyway. My first train isn't for some time yet."

"Passengers?" Thomas asked, his smile fading. "I wonder how many there will be today."

Toby bristled at the remark but kept smiling. "Oh, let's not think like that, especially not you! It's been so nice seeing you smiling again."

Thomas arched his eyebrows in Toby's direction. "What do you mean?"

Toby rolled his eyes jokingly and chuckled. "Come on, Thomas, we're both too old to beat around the buffers like this. You have been acting very strangely recently, we could all see it. I was getting worried, but these past few days it's like you're a new engine."

Thomas smiled sheepishly at his buffers, not meeting Toby's eyes. "Was it that obvious?" he asked quietly before sighing. "You were right to worry. I wasn't having a good time for a while. There were a few thoughts I couldn't really shake. But when Duck crashed, I realised I can't waste time worrying about things I don't need to worry about, that I should appreciate the present. That probably doesn't make much sense, but I feel much happier now that I've stopped worrying."

Toby tried not to let his surprise show. "I'm just glad to hear you're feeling better."

The two engines continued chatting while their fires were lit, swapping stories from the past few days and talking about the weather and their hopes for the day as though all was well. But when Thomas left eventually to collect Annie and Clarabel, Toby watched him leave and tutted to himself. _He must be the only engine on the island in a good mood this week._ He sighed and tried to think about something else. The last few nights of disrupted sleep were starting to take the toll; Toby hoped the crash wouldn't be on his mind all day as well.

Unfortunately, it was easier said than done. Normally Toby looked forward to his first train of the day; it meant spending time with Henrietta and Victoria as well as catching up with familiar faces. However, for the past few days, the tram had felt apprehensive every time he approached Ffarquhar Station.

There had been noticeably fewer passengers over the last few days; it was unsurprising, given that it was less than a week since Duck's crash. Toby knew from experience that accidents like this always stirred up people's fears, but that didn't make him dread the prospect of an empty train. A mid-morning train in the week of the week was never particularly busy anyway, but Toby knew that if there was no one at the top of the line, that meant empty platforms awaited him beyond the tunnel, and Toby had thought he was long past having to suffer that indignity.

Thankfully, he didn't notice any difference from the usual numbers as he approached the station. _Thank goodness_ , Toby thought and smiled gently at the crowd. However, most of them made their way to his coaches without meeting his gaze. _Early days, I suppose,_ he sighed.

"I know that face," a distant voice called, and Toby looked up as Rosie approached the other platform, three coaches rattling behind her. "At last your coaches will be full. I told driver we wouldn't need three, he said I shouldn't assume anything, but, well…" The tank engine trailed off, looking at the half dozen passengers slowly approaching her train.

"Oh, I wasn't thinking about that," Toby said positively. "This is pretty standard for me."

"I don't know, I had much fuller trains last week before all this happened." Rosie looked up excitedly as someone ran frantically onto the platform, but her face sank when she realised it was only a porter running late for work. "Do you think this is how it's going to be from now on, or is it going to get worse?"

"This isn't that bad, trust me," Toby said, struggling to keep his smile up. "You will know when things are truly dire. This is just a blip; give it a week and people will be upset by something else and they will forget all about Duck's accident."

For a moment, Rosie's frown lingered, and Toby thought his words had failed. But the tank engine processed the thought and smiled, her brightening. "You're right, I'm probably being silly. I think there was a market on last week in Ulfstead, that was probably why my trains were so full."

"And there will undoubtedly be another one soon enough."

"I think there is one next week, actually!" Rosie laughed as a whistle sounded from the end of her train. "Thanks for that Toby, it's always so great talking to you."

The tram smiled warmly. "Anytime. See you later!" He said with a jingle of his bell, and Rosie whistled back as she disappeared into a cloud of smoke. _The young ones are always the most optimistic, aren't they?_ Toby thought, shutting his eyes against the rising steam, and sighed.

When Toby opened his eyes again after a long, peaceful minute, he felt the presence of someone standing near him. He looked up and saw a little boy at the edge of the platform, a tiny hand gripping tightly onto his mothers. "Hello there," he said cheerfully.

The boy said nothing, but his beaming mother crouched down to his height. "Look, Matty, this is the train that will be taking us to Elsbridge today, isn't that exciting?" She nudged the boy towards Toby, clearly thinking it was a great idea. She could not see what Toby could though; the boy was wearing one of the grumpiest the tram had ever seen from a passenger, one that only got darker the more he was edged towards the tram.

"I don't want to go on that one," the little boy huffed. He planted his feet firmly on the platform and crossed his arms, staring disdainfully at Toby. "I want Thomas or Rosie!"

The mother looked awkwardly at Toby before rearranging her features into a positive grin. "Thomas or Rosie aren't taking this train though, Matty, and this is the one mummy has to catch to get to her appointment on time. We might be able to ride behind Thomas on the way back!"

" _NO_!" The boy shrieked, stamping his feet. "I want to ride on Thomas _NOW_!"

"Matty, we have to get on this train. It doesn't matter which engine is pulling the coaches, all the trains are the same in the end."

"This one is different, it's not even a real engine!"

"Now Matty, there is no need to be rude."

"It's ugly and square, I don't like it!" The boy turned to Toby, tears brimming in his eyes. "SQUARE FACE!" He screamed before spinning around and sprinting down the platform.

"Matty!" His mother scrambled to her feet and rushed after, leaving Toby alone at the end of the platform.

"Well, that was a little much," he mumbled. "Square Face, I haven't heard that one before."

"Was that horrible little child screaming at you, Toby?" Henrietta called.

"No, Henrietta, everything's fine," Toby replied with false cheerfulness. He knew Henrietta would be able to see through him, but before his coach could probe him further, the guard's whistle reverberated through the station, and Toby did not hesitate, taking off the moment he felt his brakes loosen.

"Someone's keen!" His driver said, laughing with the fireman.

Toby was in no laughing mood. He trundled out of the station and down the line with bitter determination, trying to quell the longing he felt to be back in his shed. "Everything's fine. Everything's just fine," he muttered to himself and sighed bitterly as he disappeared into the tunnel.

* * *

On most days, the tramway lane that connected the branch line with Anopha Quarry was a quiet and peaceful stretch of track. There were no houses about, just empty fields and rocky hills gently unfolding on either side of the rail. Occasionally, a car or lorry would race past, bringing with it plumes of smoke and dust, but this was a rare part of the island where the railway did not disturb the nature around it.

That is, as long as the engines are having a good day.

"Come on, come on! Why is this so difficult today?" Flora spluttered. She heaved forwards once again, feeling the redness in her face as she strained to pull the coach, yet her wheels continued to spin helplessly.

"What's the hold up?" A worker bellowed behind her. "We need to get to work!"

"You're the bloody hold up," Flora muttered under her breath, and jerked forwards once again, eyeing the top of the hill ahead of her.

Flora was always relaxed in the work she did. Nothing normally fazed her. She did prefer going out with Peach and taking passengers over hauling trucks to and from the harbour, but even that she was fine to do. The trucks were always rude and tried to bump her, but Flora took it in her stride, safe in the knowledge that no matter how bad the trucks got, there were infinitely better than taking the workers to the quarry.

She rarely had to do it. Toby normally took them first thing in the morning and seemed to enjoy the short trip along the country lane. The only time the burden passed to Flora was during the busy seasons when Peach and her second level were needed to take as many workers in one trip as possible. It was a time of the year Flora dreaded; grumpy passengers were one thing, but a whole coach of grumpy, tired, overworked passengers already looking forward to the end of the day was a whole different struggle.

"Hurry up, Toby never takes this long!"

Flora wasn't sure if it was the same worker that kept yelling at her or if they were taking turns, but it all sounded the same to her: loud, rude and entirely unhelpful. "I swear if I ever get over this hill, I am going to find that man and –"

"Come on, Flora, there's no need to get annoyed," Peach whispered. "We will get there eventually. Maybe you need to go back to the bottom and start again?"

"Maybe." Flora knew Peach meant well, and her idea was probably right, but in her current mood, she wasn't up to suggestions. It had been a long time, too long since she had started up the hill, and for whatever reason, whether it was weight or a fault with her wheels, she was unable to get more than halfway. Flora could see the top of the hill, it was so close, and she knew going back to the bottom would only make things worse.

 _You can do it, Flora!_ She told herself and rolled backwards slightly until her buffers touched Peach's. With a grunt, she jerked forwards; the coupling tightened, Flora could feel herself moving – and then, almost as quickly, she froze, wheels spinning helplessly.

Jeers started behind her again. "I'm trying!" Flora called pathetically to the world. Her driver applied her brakes, freezing them in the middle of the slop. Flora was relieved to have a break, but if she stayed here any longer she knew she would cry.

The quiet was shattered by the roar of a horn. Flora looked up expectantly and a minute light Mavis appeared at the top of the hill, her paintwork glowing angelically in the morning light.

Flora was so relieved she nearly sobbed. "You don't know how happy I am to see you!"

"I am sure I can guess," Mavis said, smiling knowingly. "I'm sorry to say it's my fault you're stuck here. My driver was struggling to apply my brakes this morning and we realised I've been leaking brake fluid. There are patches all over the tracks, I must have leaked right where you are now."

"Don't blame yourself, you can't have known!" Flora said though she was relieved to know it wasn't her fault.

She happily waited as her driver coupled her to Mavis, and did her best to help as the diesel pulled her up the hill. After what had felt like hours stuck on the hill, it now seemed like they were flying as they raced along the flat gradient, the grassy fields quickly disappearing and being replaced with boulders and rising cliffs.

Before she knew it Flora was in the heart of the quarry. The quiet of the country road had long disappeared, and now the sounds of machinery hard at work and metal clanging against rock filled her surroundings.

Soon they reached the platform, a bare bit of concrete coated in layers of dust built up over the years. "Thank you, Mavis, I probably would've been stuck there for hours if you hadn't come," Flora said with much gratitude.

"Think nothing of it; it's what any friend would do." Mavis gave a friendly toot as she was uncoupled and headed back to her work, leaving Flora and Peach alone with the workers as they disembarked.

Most of the workers did not look Flora's way as they stomped past, though she could hear them muttering, groaning about being late. However, two did stop a few feet from her, watching as Mavis disappeared amongst the trucks.

"That diesel is a proper engine. My father worked here when she first arrived, says she is still as hard a worker now as she was then," a tall man said.

"Not as faulty as all these bloody steam engines they've got all over the place," the fatter of the two said, looking directly at Flora as he said it. "Why Hatt keeps buying these useless girly engines is beyond me. He needs to scrap them all, buy something with a bit of grunt."

"Couldn't agree more, mate, couldn't agree more. We need another yellow lump of wood like we need a hole in the head."

The two guffawed boorishly as they walked away, leering at Flora long after they had left the station. "Morons," Flora's driver tutted. "Don't pay them any attention, they have no idea what they are talking about. Just parroting Macmillan is all."

Flora smiled at him but said nothing. She simply stared at the men as they walked away, and kept staring long after they had disappeared into the haze of dust that hung over the quarry. When her brakes came loose a minute later, Flora finally blinked and looked away, letting her mind wander as she rolled onto the loop and headed back the way she had come. She tried to think about her jobs for the rest of the day, she tried to focus on the patterns in the cliffs and the birds flying above the fields around her, but long after the noise and hubbub of the quarry had faded away into nothing, the rocks and dust returning to a sea of green, the worker's words were all that Flora could think about.

* * *

James eyed the small crowd of passengers making their way across the platform with disdain. "Slow day for you as well?"

Toby nodded silently. Today was one of the days where he didn't want to be right, but after the first stops at Hackenbeck and Elsbridge, he had known his coaches would be close to empty by the time he reached Knapford. Watching the barely dozen people crossing the platform to board their final train, and the even fewer strolling across the platform to take their place in Henrietta and Victoria, Toby wished again he was back in the sheds catching up on sleep rather than enduring this.

"You should have seen rush hour at Tidmouth," James said grimly. "You would have thought it was a Saturday morning in winter. The stationmaster called the police to see if there had been an accident or something, some reason everybody was held up, but, well, there's only been one accident, hasn't there?"

He glanced back the way he had come, and Toby's eyes followed him towards the tunnel. A new signal had been installed yesterday, the fresh white paint shining in the sun; next to it, a trio of gardeners was smoothing over the ground and planting fresh grass to cover up the earth Duck had torn up.

"That's not going to change anything," Toby muttered to himself.

"Did you say something?" James asked, eyes jolting back onto the tram.

"Nothing, just talking to myself," Toby said, and he forced a smile once again. "I'm sure you'll find more passengers down the way. The bus service isn't as reliable between here and Wellsworth, people need their trains along here."

"Maybe," James mumbled, not looking convinced. There was no time for Toby to say anything else; both guard's whistles went off in near perfect unison a few seconds later, and the red engine took off while the high pitched sounds still hung in the air.

"Goodbye," Toby called quietly to the retreating coaches. He watched them leave as a porter uncoupled him from Henrietta, and by the time the tram had rolled around to be coupled to Victoria, the sound of James' roaring wheels had faded away into silence.

The quiet followed Toby up the line. Even Henrietta and Victoria, who normally talked for most of the journey to Ffarquhar, stayed silent, their empty seats taking their toll. Toby didn't mind it though; there was only one thing they'd be talking about, and he didn't trust himself to keep up the façade in front of them. It was easier to say nothing and focus on the world around them. _Nothing can take all this away from us,_ Toby thought, looking around at the trees and bushes and hills he knew all too well.

He could remember when he had first arrived on the railway, when all this had been new and strange to him. The locals had been so used to Thomas and Thomas alone for such a long time that the arrival of a second engine had been the talk of all the towns. For a few months, young kids had run up to the fences Toby passed now to watch him go by. The tram had always acknowledged them with a ring of his bell, even if it was an only child or lone farmer thankful for the break in the monotony.

Of course, that had only lasted a little while. After a year or two, Toby was simply another fixture. Percy arrived, and then Daisy, and they both got the same excited treatment from people looking for something to talk about. Even when they had become overly familiar sights, people still found them exciting; Percy with his bright green paint, Daisy a railcar novelty.

Toby still had his fans, he knew. There were those who were always excited to see him, who told their children about the cowcatchers and side plates, those children making excited noises and asking his crew for a ride. They weren't that excited when he took longer to reach its destination than Thomas or Daisy did, or when buses shot past at speeds Toby would never be able to achieve. People who had grown up with Toby a constant presence in their lives were more forgiving, the slow pace taking them back to their youth, weekends spent being carted up and down the branch line, but most regulars struggled to hide their dismay when they saw Toby rolling up to the platform, bell jingling, steam oozing mysteriously out from the metal skirt.

 _They'd all miss me when I'm gone, but they'd all move on eventually, wouldn't they?_ Toby smiled sadly at the thought. He knew he was overreacting; there was no sign that any of them would be getting scrapped any time soon, but he at least knew he was not being pedantic. It had happened before, after all; in another time, on a different line, there had been locals crushed to see their novel little tram going. Upset, but not enough to have taken a ride on the line when the first threats of closure had surfaced. Toby could remember his farewell party well even after all these years. He doubted he would ever forget it. He only had to close his eyes, just as he had every night this week, and he was back there, back in the past…

The unmistakable rumble of trucks coming down the line shook Toby out of his thoughts. He looked up and realised they were approaching Dryaw Station. He was already crossing the bridge, the noisy trucks passing by underneath. Toby expected to slow as they neared the station, but when he saw the empty platform he was not surprised when they didn't stop.

They carried on to the junction, where Percy was already waiting. "Hello Toby, busy day?"

"The usual," Toby replied simply. "How are the trucks behaving?"

Even without looking at his friend in the eye, Percy's hesitant pause was answer enough. "Not good," he said after a few moments. "They all know about Duck's accident, which isn't that surprising, but somehow they know about the lack of passengers. It's all they've been talking about all day – saying we're going to be scrapped, that it'll be us next."

"You should know better than to listen to trucks," Toby sighed. "They are just trying to cause trouble, we don't need to pay them any attention."

"I know that, but it stings how right they could be."

"They are trucks, they don't know anything," Toby said sharply. "If you pay any attention to them, that's only going to give them power. Just ignore them and they'll be back to their usual nonsense soon enough."

"You're right, you're right," Percy sighed. "It's just hard to tune them out when I'm thinking these thoughts anyway. I've seen the platforms the last few days, I know that's not usual. The Fat Controller said he wouldn't scrap anyone, and I believe him, but –"

"I'm sorry, Percy, but I'm running late. I'll talk to you later."

"Oh, okay. See you, Toby."

Toby rang his bell in farewell, not trusting himself to say anything. He briefly caught Percy's face as he passed, his hurt and confusion palpable in the second their eyes met, but Toby felt no guilt as he tore off down the track, pulling his train as fast as his small water tank and ancient wheels would carry him.

"Toby, are you alright?" Victoria asked quietly, her voice barely a whisper against the comparable roar of Toby's thrust.

"I'm fine, Victoria, I'm perfectly fine," the tram replied, smiling, well aware of how unconvincing he sounded.

* * *

The yard was quiet. Flora was not a fan of noise and chaos, but she liked a silent yard even less. She sat in a siding near the station, enjoying the heavy flow of cool water into her tanks, watching the nothingness unfold. She was alone, Titan having left with a train a few minutes earlier. Trucks, as usual, filled the sidings, but with no engines to tease they were keeping to themselves, only the occasional mutter or giggle carrying on the wind. A sole lorry briefly filled the world with its angry, diesely roar, but even that only lasted a moment.

Flora stared at the world, taking in every detail she could see, every sound she could hear, yet registered none of it. She was trying to fight the thoughts swimming madly through her mind, but nothing could stop the flood the quarry worker had unleashed.

At the heart of it all sat a single question. _Is there something wrong with me?_ It was something Flora had never considered before. She had never had any reason to. Yet now that it had been asked, she found herself longing to find an answer.

Deep down, she had always suspected it, she could see that now. When she had first arrived, she could see everyone – passengers, trucks, the other engines – staring at her scalding yellow paint and vivacious red cowcatchers, and Flora had seen the same look in all their faces; curiosity, amusement, disbelief. She had known it was because of her paint, but she had never known why it had caused such a reaction. She had simply never had a word for it, until now.

 _Do they all think I'm some big joke? Some silly little toy engine they don't have to take too seriously? Surely they can't think that now? I've proven myself, I've done my part for the railway, I've helped out. I'm useful, just like everyone else. Aren't I?_

Flora felt something move within her and she jolted out of her thoughts. There was a thud and a splash, and she winced as cold water splashed against her wheels, seeping through her side plates.

"Careful, Flora!" Her fireman grumbled. "Can you try not to move when I'm taking the hose out?'

Flora watched as he hooked the pipe back to the water tower and climbed down, revealing his soaked through pants. "Sorry!" She said quietly and looked away, trying to hide her brewing tears.

She could hear her crew talking, but nothing else was said to her as she was driven across the yard back to where Peach had been parked. For a few minutes the silence that engulfed the sidings was punctuated only by her driver coupling her to the coach, and then the sound of her pistons pumping and wheels churning against the tracks as she made her way towards the station.

As she approached the platform, Flora watched the small group of passengers waiting for her. Most ignored her, but a few people glanced her way at her approach; a little girl clutching her mother's hand, two teenagers in school uniform muttering to each other, a well-dressed man looking at her with a pinched nose. Flora normally smiled at her passengers and thought nothing of them, but today she looked at every single one, wondering they were thinking about her.

Suddenly, the silence around her vanished, replaced by a mechanical growl that emerged out of nowhere. It took everyone nearby a few minutes to work out where the noise was coming from, but when a dark figure appeared in the distance, Flora knew straight away what was happening.

"She's in trouble," she whispered to no one, her eyes locked on Mavis. Even from afar, Mavis looked pained, and from the sounds coming from her engine, Flora could see why. "She needs our help," she said, looking to her driver.

"I know. Give me a second," he said as he leapt from Flora's cab and ran towards the office. He was only in there for a few moments before rushing out again with the stationmaster in his wake. "Larry just radioed through, he isn't sure what's wrong but he thinks it has to do with whatever damaged her brakes," he explained, referring to Mavis' driver. "They are supposed to be taking the trucks straight to Knapford to meet an order but obviously she can't make it."

"Bloody hell, are they sending someone else?"

"No one's free. Well, no one who can make it there on time, anyway."

"Well, I could take it," Flora said.

Her crew turned towards her. "You? Do you think you can handle it?" Her driver asked, his voice rife with scepticism.

"Yes!" Flora said indignantly. "Do you not think I can?"

"No, of course not, I was just unsure you would want to take a train that size."

Flora looked back around and stifled a gasp. She had been so distracted by Mavis that she had not paid any attention to her train; there were at least two dozen trucks trailing behind her, maybe even more, all as full as can be. _I can't take that all that._ Flora knew she didn't have the strength; it would easily be the longest train she had ever pulled, and she didn't know if she had it in her.

She turned her focus back to Mavis, and she only had to look at the diesel's mournful expression to find her answer. _It's what any friend would do._ Flora shut her eyes and breathed slowly. This would be the biggest task she had ever undertaken, but she knew she had to do it for Mavis, for the line, for herself.

"I can handle it. Let's do it."

* * *

The passengers were starting to get annoyed. Toby watched the crowd swarming around the station master's office, their voices carrying as they all yelled questions at the poor man, demanding to know why their train has been delayed.

"Because a stupid farmer can't build a proper fence!" Henrietta yelled irritably, causing a few passengers to look around.

"Henrietta!" Victoria gasped.

Toby, however, struggled to stifle his giggles. This was the third time in only a few weeks cows running across the line had caused delays and all the engines were fed up. Of course, Toby couldn't say anything about it, not when the other engines were moaning and complaining. He had to help them see sense, as always, no matter how irritated he was at having to wait for cows to be chased back into their field, thinking about how buses never had to deal with this.

"Toby," Henrietta called, pulling the tram out of his thoughts, "why don't we go on ahead and round them all up? You've got just the tools to catch them."

Toby rolled his eyes and sighed, even though a smile crossed his lips. "Didn't you make that same joke last week?"

"Just goes to show how often we're being held up by selfish farmers!" Henrietta huffed.

"Come now, Henrietta, you can't blame the farmer for his cows being naughty," Victoria said.

"Who else am I supposed to blame then?" Henrietta grumbled. "I have a very good reason to dislike farmers. One wanted to turn me into a hen house!"

"Well, I was actually turned into a house," Victoria replied.

There was a long pause as everyone looked at the hedge alongside the station, beyond which Victoria had once sat. "Touché," Henrietta said finally.

"Besides, I thought it was a stationmaster on your old line that was going to turn you into a hen house."

"A station master with a farm," Henrietta corrected. "I was probably only about a few hours away from being rolled into his garden and filled up with bloody chickens! Can you imagine chickens tearing up my leather, sitting in the luggage rack? It's disgraceful!"

"Shouldn't your issue by with stationmaster's then?" Victoria chuckled.

Henrietta said something in response, but Toby was no longer paying attention. He stared at the station without actually seeing everything, while all sound around him faded into white noise. When he shut his eyes, he was no longer on Thomas' branch line; there was a station in front of him and tracks leading beyond the platform, but they were sights Toby hadn't seen for decades and likely never would again.

There were people waiting for him on the platform as Toby approached, but these passengers were happy to see him. Which was odd, Toby thought, considering it was his last day on the tramway. Why people thought it was a time for celebrating he would never be able to work out, nor why so many people had turned out today when they hadn't visited in years. Toby knew he would enjoy having company again, it was better than his last train being empty like all the others, but it was still strange to see everyone finally show up again.

And then he was rolling backwards, slower than before, without any weight behind him. Toby knew what was coming, but that still didn't make the feeling any better. _My last view of freedom,_ he could remember thinking, looking at at the dinky yard that he had called home for so many years. No one was around now, only his crew as they put out his fire and moved towards the doors. The shed was big, spacious, more room than Toby had now, but that didn't mean much; it was only more darkness to surround him, more empty weight to press down on him for the rest of his existence. He watched his crew's sad faces as they pushed the doors shut, the sunlight getting thinner and thinner, and remembered wondering what would happen to them, to the tracks, to the station staff, to Henrietta, but most importantly, what was going to happen to him?

"Alright, it sounds like the track has been cleared, but the passengers are going to have to wait a little while longer."

Toby only opened his eyes when he felt his back coupling being loosened. He stared around, dazed, confused, for a moment forgetting where he was. When he saw the passengers on the station watching him, frowning rather than celebrating, the tram calmed down; at least on his old line no one had ever looked at him like that.

"Flora's stuck on a hill, she needs up help getting over the top," Toby's driver explained. "We'll be back for the passengers soon."

"Makes sense," Toby said without really thinking. He felt many pairs of eyes watching him as he trundled past without any coaches, a few moans and shouts following him down the line, but Toby ignored them all, all his energy spent on trying not to cry.

* * *

"COME ON, COME ON, COME ON!"

Flora's shouts echoed, reverberating through the fields on either side. She saw a few cows scamper away in fright, but that was all her yelling achieved. She had not moved an inch. She was no closer to reaching the top. Simply put, she was stuck.

"Shouting isn't going to help," her driver called from up ahead, where he was sprinkling sand across the tracks with the fireman. "Help will be here soon, and then we will get on our way."

"I shouldn't need help," Flora said quietly. She ignored her driver and tried pulling again, but her wheels slipped helplessly, just as they had for the last half an hour. Her fireman suspected that some of the fuel she had slipped on earlier was still on her wheels, and that the weight of the train was stopping her from getting a solid grip. Flora desperately wanted to believe him, but the longer she spent staring at the grass verges and the faraway point where the gradient levelled out again, the more inclined she was to face reality.

"She's square, she's yellow, she pulls her coaches, but give her trucks and she's simply hopeless!"

Flora winced. The trucks had conjured this chant up only a few minutes ago, but already she hated it. She might have been able to endure a different rhyme, she had survived plenty in the past, but to bring up her paint today of all days simply made her water boil.

 _He was right though, wasn't he?_ Flora thought, staring at the top of the slope. _I really am just useless._

Her thoughts were interrupted by the faint ringing of a bell, and a minute later Toby appeared, smiling kindly as he rolled down the hill towards them. "I heard you are in a bit of trouble."

"Just a little," Flora replied, trying to smile back but she struggled to keep it up. She said nothing else as Toby slowed to a stop a few centimetres from her, and watched as her crew coupled the two together.

"The rails are nice and sandy, so we should have a good grip. Are you ready?" The old tram asked.

"I think so." Suddenly, Flora felt nervous. It was one thing to fail all on your own, but to fail in front of someone you respected and admired, that was an entirely different shame.

Far away at the back of the train, the guard sounded his whistle, and both trams lurched forwards. For a moment, nothing happened, and Flora shut her eyes, unable to look at Toby in the face of her failure. She urged herself onwards, willed her wheels to move and the trucks to follow. She focused on that thought with such intensity she thought she could imagine it, but then she felt a tugging in front of her, the weight of the train behind, her wheels gliding forwards.

"We're doing it!" Flora yelled and opened her eyes. She could see the whole world moving by as they began to climb the hill. The sight filled her with such joy she sounded her whistle and rang her bell as loudly as she could.

Toby smiled at her but said nothing as they reached the top of the slope. Flora's elation lingered for a time, but as the silence stretched on and the minutes passed by without comment, she began to feel awkward and uneasy. She tried to meet Toby's eye but the older tram was looking away, staring blankly off into the countryside.

 _Is he judging me?_ Flora thought, her water tank going cold. _He is, isn't he? He probably thinks it's ridiculous that I can't even climb a hill on my own. He's over 100 years old and he could manage it, and here I am, weak, useless, with my pathetic bloody paint…_

Before she was even aware it was coming, Flora let out a sob. She froze the second she noticed it, but not before Toby had turned his attention back to her, an eyebrow rising. Suddenly Flora hoped the silence would continue, but as they began the descent towards Elsbridge, she knew it was unavoidable now.

"Is everything alright?" Toby asked finally.

"Yes, I'm fine," Flora said unconvincingly.

"Did the trucks say something?"

"No!" Flora huffed. "Well, yes, but I can handle them, thank you very much!"

Toby looked affronted. "I was only asking."

Flora was struck with guilt. "Sorry," she mumbled. "It's just been a hard day."

"Hasn't it just," Toby said, smiling in a way that Flora didn't think was convincing.

"I've just worked myself into a state. Someone said something this morning, and…." Flora trailed off, looking at Toby in shock. The brown tram had sighed and rolled his eyes, and was now staring at her with a look that could only be described as irritation.

"Look, Flora, I have not come all this way to help you feel better about all your worries. I helped you up the hill, that was all that I was meant to do. Sorting out any of your other worries is not my job, not today at least."

"I-I-I wasn't asking for –"

"If you are concerned about something, try and find your own solution before bothering anyone else. But chances are that whatever you're worried about isn't even a real problem."

The train jolted to a stop; they had reached Elsbridge. A porter reached between the two engines with a hook, releasing the coupling, and almost instantly Toby jerked backwards. He did not look at Flora as he rolled back to the next set of points and switched back to his line. It was only when he was beside her, coaches behind him and passengers swarming inside, that Toby faced her again; for a second, guilt crossed his face, but when his guard sounded the whistles, his face went blank and he left without another word.

"Something's on his mind," Flora's driver muttered to the fireman, and both men laughed as Flora rolled slowly out of the station.

Flora did not laugh with them. She simply kept her eyes down, focused on the track ahead, and listened to the sound of the trucks rolling smoothly behind her, all while Toby's words went in circles through her thoughts.

* * *

While most roads around the island got busier and noisier at night, the country quarry lane never really changed. Asides from a few cars taking their owners home for the night, the dusty fields and the long curve of track was only ever interrupted by the welcome noise of an engine hard at work, a disruption to the peace that anyone living nearby had long become used to and often looked to.

 _It hasn't changed at all, has it?_ Toby thought, looking around as he and his coaches made their way towards the quarry. He had always thought it was the most beautiful part of the branch line; quiet, peaceful, a reminder of how railways once were before houses and factories took over the landscape. Quarry trucks were the worst to deal with, and their workers the grumpiest passengers, but Toby was always glad for a chance to work this line, especially as the sun was slipping behind the trees.

He knew he was biased towards the line. It was all thanks to this stretch of track that he had been saved. As Toby rattled over the road, he looked at the point where he had first encountered the police officer and smiled. The man had long since passed, but Toby still thanked him whenever he thought of him; who would have thought a railway hating, sleepless cop would have been the one to have saved him from eternal darkness?

 _Though a railway hating politician is probably going to send me back there._ Toby felt his mood instantly darken at the thought, and he sighed, his brief moment of contentment already gone.

"Alright Toby, what's the matter?"

"Nothing, Henrietta, I told you I'm fine," Toby huffed.

The coach laughed bitterly. "No, you're not. We know when you're having a bad day, and this is the worst day you've had for at least twenty years."

"We can all see it, Toby," Victoria called from the back of the train. "You were short with Percy, and then you were quite rude to Flora. You're acting very unusually."

"What if this isn't unusual?" Toby huffed back. "What if every other day I'm pretending to be my usual self, and today I discovered what my usual self is? Did either of you stop to think of that when you were twittering about me?"

"We weren't twittering, Toby," Henrietta retorted haughtily. "We may have talked about you while you were helping Flora, yes, but only because we're concerned about you."

Toby scoffed. "You must be the only ones."

"What does that mean?"

For a moment, Toby didn't say anything. They had reached the bottom of the slope, and his crew were adjusting his speed, getting him ready for the steep climb. Toby paused, waiting until he had enough steam, eyeing his destination and hoping he could make it, all the while his thoughts building up, words forming on his lips ready to come out. When a moment later he jolted forwards, ready to climb the hill, Toby breathed in and for the first time in years let the words come pouring out.

"All week everyone has been talking about how worried they are, what the drop in passengers means, what Duck's accident might mean. All week all I've heard from the other engines is how afraid they are, but when I am given a chance to talk, they don't want to hear Worried Toby, or Scared Toby, or Slightly Concerned Toby, they want Wise Old Toby to tell them everything's going to be alright.

"So I've been telling them that everything's going to be fine because that's what they want to hear. I can't tell them that I have no idea if the railway will be able to recover from this. No one of them wants to hear me say that things might not work out, that this could be the beginning of the end. And no one cares that I am probably more terrified than anyone else in that shed because I am the most disposable of any of them. I'm the oldest, I'm the slowest, I am not very economical to run. If the railway starts cutting engines, I will be the first to go, but no one's trying to reassure me.

"And I know things might not work out. I have seen this all before. We all have. When we stop meeting someone else's standards of being useful, we're put in sheds, we're sold to farms, we're turned into summer houses. I've had to live through all this before, and I don't want to have to do it again because if it does happen I really don't think I will be able to handle it. I didn't the first time, and this time is going to be so much worse. This was meant to be a second chance, and I am not ready to give that all up again."

Toby reached the top of the hill and breathed out. The tears he had been holding back were flowing now, and the tram did nothing to stop them. He ignored his coaches and his crew, he ignored the hills and rocks rising up on either side of the track. He simply carried on towards his destination, relieved only that he wasn't holding anything back.

When they reached the quarry, the workers were all waiting for them. Toby came to a smooth stop at the platform and watched as the tired, hungry men and women streamed into his coaches. For a few minutes, their grunting and muffled chatter were all he could hear, but Toby knew that wouldn't be the case for long. At some point, whether it was in five minutes or five days, his coaches would speak up, and he had no idea how that was going to go.

The guard's whistle sounded without comment, and Toby set off straight away, rolling through lines of empty trucks as he reached the loop allowing him to turn around. For several minutes he simply sailed past boulders and machinery, and then by grassy hills and rock-strewn ditches, enjoying the scenery, holding on to this moment before anything changed.

Finally, Henrietta spoke. "Toby, I'm sorry."

Her words hung in the air alongside the sound of Toby's bell jingling and birds calling as they returned home to roost. "Sorry for what?" Toby asked after a few moments.

"I'm sorry I haven't stood up for you more. All this time I thought you liked helping everyone. If I had known this was how you felt, I –"

"I do like helping people," Toby said quickly. "I do, I really do. It's just…"

He couldn't say the words, but Henrietta knew what he meant. "You can't be everything that everyone expects of you every day."

Toby shut his eyes and smiled. "Exactly." He paused as they rolled down the hill, feeling the weight of two full coaches pressing against him, trying so hard to keep things steady, to make sure everyone reached the bottom safely.

"They only expect it of you because you've allowed them to expect it. You've filled this role, consciously or unconsciously, for so long that it has become a part of you, at least the you that everyone sees. To try and counter that, to change this image after so long, it's hard, maybe even impossible."

"I can't tell them how scared I am. I've seen this before, I know the signs."

"We all have, Toby, and we are scared as well," Victoria said solemnly. "It's alright to be scared, it's alright to let everyone see that."

"You don't have to be perfect, Toby. You don't have to be the wise old tram every minute of every day. You're not helping anyone pretending that everything's fine just to make them feel better for a few minutes, especially not yourself. You have to be brave."

"I thought I was doing that," Toby laughed coldly.

"Being brave and putting on a brave face are two entirely different things," Henrietta said, sweetness seeping into her stern voice. "It's not a bad thing to ask for help. You should know that – it's all anyone's been asking of you."

Toby chuckled at this, the tears still streaming down his face. Henrietta joined in, and then Victoria, and soon the quiet country lane was filled with the sound of their sombre laughter. Through his watery eyes, Toby again saw the spot where he had startled the policeman so long ago.

 _I've been helping everyone since the day I arrived,_ the tram thought. _I guess it's about time I tried to help myself, isn't it?_

* * *

The passengers were not happy Flora's train earlier had been cancelled. She could see a few of them were still swarming the stationmaster's office as she arrived back from the harbour. _Margaret MacMillan will probably hear about this,_ she thought grimly, avoiding eye contact with the disgruntled customers. She was not up to face anyone else today.

The last parts of her journey had passed in a daze. Flora could not remember how long it had taken to reach the harbour, or where she had shunted the trucks or anything about her much shorter trip back to Ffarquhar. The only thing on her mind was what Toby had said before he had left. Flora had long stopped wondering if he had meant it, if he was just being rude, if he had wanted to say those things to her for a long time; she only cared about the words themselves and what they meant.

"Hello there Flora, back from the harbour already?"

Flora jumped; she had not expected to see the Fat Controller today, least of all have him interrupt her daydreaming. "Oh, hello sir, didn't see you there."

"I only just got out of a meeting with the passengers you left behind," the controller explained, glancing back towards the diminishing crowd. "Between you and me, I'm having to put in some extra effort this week to sort out these complaints. I imagine I'll be doing a lot of these meetings for the next wee while."

Guilt consumed Flora once again. "I'm sorry sir, I shouldn't have left them, but Mavis was ill and –"

"Think nothing of it, Flora, these things happen!" The Fat Controller said, shaking his head. "Frankly put, the quarry contract does far more business for this line than those passengers do, especially in the current climate. If only people carried what quarry workers think!"

"Yes, quite," Flora said, blushing.

The Fat Controller smiled warmly at her as he readjusted his hat. "You did excellent work as always, Flora. Pass on my regards to Toby," he added and strolled off towards the car park.

"Toby?" Flora seized up and looked around; there he was, rattling towards the station with Henrietta and Victoria in tow. Flora didn't want to see him again so soon, but her crew were filling out forms in the office, and Toby was only metres away.

In her panic, she did the first thing that came to mind. "Hello!" She yelled a little too loudly.

Toby looked around as he came to a stop. "Oh… hello Flora." He smiled uncertainly at her, and Flora could tell he felt bad for how he had left things.

"Hello," she repeated, feeling the tension pressing down against her.

"Flora, I must apologise for earlier. I shouldn't have said all those things."

"You don't need to apologise," Flora said quickly. "I know you were a bit grumpy, but what you said actually helped me."

Toby looked startled. "Really?"

"Yeah, really." Flora watched the stream of passengers pouring out of his coaches and streaming across the platform. There were close to one hundred workers there, but Flora only had eyes for two of them. She saw the short one first, his wide frame standing out as he lumbered behind the pack, the tall one a few feet ahead, looking around for his friend.

Flora smiled and rang her bell. The two jumped, as did some of the others around them. As sniggers passed through the crowd, the two men stared directly at Flora; the tram met their gaze and held it, and with a wide smile she winked at the pair and rang her bell again.

As she giggled watching the two walk silently away, Toby began to chuckle. "I'm not sure what that was, but I'm guessing it felt good?"

"Very," Flora replied, brimming with excitement. Her joy dimmed slightly as she watched Toby, seeing the look in his eye as he stared at the passengers walking away. "Are you alright, Toby?"

The tram looked back to Flora and smiled, and for perhaps the first time ever Flora noted how lined his face was. "Not really, if I'm being honest, Flora, but I think I will be better."

"Oh… I'm sorry to hear that. Is it anything you'd like to talk about?"

"Not now, no. But that doesn't mean we can't just talk."

"Are you sure?" Flora asked tentatively.

"Of course," Toby said, his smile brightening. "I'd love to hear about your day. What was all this about Mavis?"

Flora beamed, suddenly feeling as bright as her paintwork. She blinked back tears as she began to recount her day, a story that carried on long after the two had returned to the sheds. And not once, even as their conversation carried on into the night, did Toby's smile falter.

* * *

 **A long, long delay, one I apologise for. Hopefully, it will not happen again. This was a tricky one to get the tone right for, with an original draft and plan that got entirely scrapped. I hope this final version has worked out for the best.**


	13. The Wrong Way

**The Wrong Way**

 _Paddington Station - 1955_

 _Smoke rarely seemed to leave the air during the early morning rush. With so many trains coming and going every minute, a thick grey cloud hung over everything at Paddington. It was the thickest inside the station, the fumes gathering beneath the grand arches of Isambard Kingdom Brunal's greatest achievement. Yet, given that even German bombs had done little to dent the station's beauty, trapped smog was a mere afterthought for the thousands of passengers moving between platform and coach._

 _In amongst the smoke and chaos that morning was Montague. He was a constant presence as always, scuttling in with coaches and just as quickly disappearing, barely making it beyond the end of the platform but with a job more vital than those leading the trains. The passengers paid them no attention as a consequence, few understanding the importance Montague and all the other dark green tank engines did to ensure their trains all left on time._

 _Yet Montague didn't mind. As he raced back into the station for the fourth time that morning, ready to haul away a line of mail vans before the next train came in, it was with a smile on his face even as sweat and condensation poured down his brow. This time of morning was his favourite of the day. It may seem like organised bedlam to anyone unfamiliar with the hustle and bustle of the peak times, but he savoured these moments._

 _Being busy was all part of the job: when the work became too overwhelming, or he found himself on the wrong end of tired, harangued engine, Duck simply reminded himself that this was what he was designed to do. His class had been built in their hundreds to service the railway, and for nearly thirty years Duck had been doing just that and hoped it would happen for many years to come._

 _"I don't know how you always stay so positive," his friend Christopher remarked as they returned to the depot a few hours later. "I always feel like my wheels are about to fall off!"_

 _"At your age, they probably are," Montague snorted._

 _"Cheeky," Christopher huffed, though his pouting face only made Montague chuckle harder._

 _They were still laughing when they reached the Old Oak Common. There, the two split up; Christopher joined a queue waiting for the coal hopper, while Montague carried on through the maze of sidings. He saw one train head in the direction of The Factory, and passed several other pilot engines readying trains for the bigger engines._

 _However, rather than join them, Montague found himself rolling into an empty siding near one of the buildings. "Wait here for a second, Monty, we're wanted in the office," his driver yelled as he and the fireman jumped down from the footplate._

 _"Alright, I'll just be waiting." Montague pondered the pair as they scampered away; this had been a regular occurrence over the last few weeks, and Montague was beginning to get suspicious, but he hadn't said anything. It was not his place to question his crew._

 _"Quack Quack Quack!"_

 _Montague made no effort to react. He stared straight ahead, ignoring the two Castle classes as they rolled slowly by, sniggering loudly. He had long forgotten where this silliness over his 'waddling' had come from – the workers had looked him over multiple times and found nothing wrong with him – yet for years, the teasing and giggling had persisted._

Silly engines, _Montague thought, watching them slip away into the yard._ Why are they bothering to desecrate the Great Western image with such immature behaviour? I suppose these are tender engines, they aren't exactly known for their smarts…

 _He sat in simmering anger for some time, muttering under his breath about their immaturity, and became so lost in his thoughts he didn't notice his crew return until they were right in front of him; both men wore wide grins on their faces, and each one clutched a wad of paper in their hands._

 _"Is that our work for the day?" Montague asked, but he had a feeling already that he was wrong._

 _"Not in the slightest, my boy, this is even better!" His driver held the paper aloft, but the tiny words meant nothing to Montague._

 _It took the fireman to break the silence. "It's official – we're heading to Sodor!"_

 _"Sodor?" Montague asked uncertainly. "Where is that?"_

 _"Further north, little island off the coast near Scotland. North Western Railway. Their controller apprenticed with us decades ago and decided he wanted a Great Western engine, and they've chosen to send us! A new line, new opportunities – isn't that great?"_

 _Montague said nothing. He had no idea what to think. A new controller? A new railway?_ What if I don't want to go?

 _He couldn't hide his apprehension, and his crew could see it. "Trust us, this is a good thing," his driver said. "The railway will be moving towards diesel engines to do your job soon, and when that happens, you are going to be thankful you still have work to do."_

 _The fireman nodded in agreement. "Exactly. This controller is obsessed with steam from the sounds of it, he won't be cutting back any time soon. It's going to be good for all of us, you'll see."_

 _"Beside, you can show them all how we run things on the Great Western Railway!" His driver added as he walked back to the cab._

 _A few minutes later, Montague was steaming through the yard, expected to carry out his day's work as normal. As always, he diligently went about his duties, arranging train after train, taking coaches to Paddington and back again as though nothing had changed. Yet everything was about to, and the more Montague thought about it, the more he felt a sudden longing for the world around him; the station, the depot, the engines and their teasing, and most of all, the ease, the simplicity, the familiarity of the Great Western Way._

* * *

Duck could feel the Inspector's eyes following him around the yard. He tried not to glance at the platform to confirm this, but he knew the squat little man would be watching him very intensely. Duck knew it was his job, but that didn't lessen the pressure he felt as he was put through his paces; rolling gently down one track, building speed and racing down the next, prancing about like a show dog for the amusement of others.

 _You have to do this, Duck; this is the official way. Smile and get through it and you will finally be able to go home._ Yet even with that in mind, the tank engine dreaded to think what the other engines might think as they sped by doing proper work. It was bad enough that the little engines were watching, and Duck knew it would be just his luck that Gordon or Henry would show up in time to watch his humiliation unfold.

Thankfully, it didn't last long. By the end of it, Duck only had to do a few short runs around the yard, once hauling some spare coaches from one end to the other, before he found himself pulling up to the station. His crew climbed onto the platform and joined the small crowd gathering around the little man, all looking as uncertain as Duck felt.

"Number 5741 performed admirably," the man said after a few moments' hesitation. "Based on the engineers report and what I have seen here, the engine has not suffered any significant damage from the accident. I will admit that the speed of the work has me slightly concerned, but from what I have gathered, the damage was largely superficial. I would recommend regular inspections by one of your engineers every few weeks or so, but I see no reason why 5741 cannot continue operating for the remainder of its current boiler ticket."

There was no celebration yet; given the seriousness of the duty and the unfamiliarity around the visiting inspector, the crew and engineers were subdued as they thanked the man and bide him on his way. Yet Duck could barely contain his excitement; nearly a month he had been stuck in the Works, barely sleeping as they hammered away at Cyclone most nights, amongst other reasons. To be free to return to his line felt like a weight off his boiler, and it took all his willpower not to whistle in delight while the inspector was lingering.

When the man was finally gone, the mood lifted; Duck's crew embraced momentarily before shaking the engineer's hands more enthusiastically. The fireman leapt back inside Duck's cab and for a joyous minute his deep whistle filled through the yard.

"Don't keep that up too long, you'll wake Duke up," the stationmaster yelled over the din.

"Let him wake up!" Duck's driver shouted back, and everyone laughed.

"Stuffy little fella that was," one of the engineer's said, staring at the parking space that had been occupied by the inspector's car.

"Would have been nice to have had someone familiar, but _she_ never would have allowed it," Duck's driver said indignantly.

No one needed to say who 'she' was; a poster for Margaret MacMillan hung from the station's noticeboard a few feet away, her gleaming smile somehow even more sinister when captured on glossy paper. It was thanks to her campaign for rail safety that Duck had been trapped in the Works longer than necessary, even though everyone had worked out very quickly that any damage caused by the accident was easily repairable.

Yet all the boxes had to be triple checked to ensure that there was nothing that could be used politically against the railway. Duck appreciated the Fat Controller's position and was happy to oblige, moreso than many of the other engines had they been in this situation, but he could not say he was happy about it.

 _At least you get to go home now._ Duck smiled at the thought, relaxing already as he imagined seeing his friends again, racing along the coast with Alice and Mirabel rattling behind him. "Are we going to head off soon?"

"Once the Fat Controller has signed off the forms, we should be on our way," his driver explained.

"You'll need to move back into the Works though, we've got a train coming in in a few," the stationmaster said.

Duck bristled at the idea of waiting any longer but he didn't say anything; he quietly reversed from the platform and rolled back into the shadow of the Works. The soot covered walls around him had fast become a sore sight, and he hoped it would be a long time before he was back here again.

 _Ten more minutes can't hurt, though they won't be able to hold me any longer,_ Duck thought, staring out at the world he had long been deprived from. There were trucks sitting ignored at the far end of the yard, and Duck longed to race out there and shuffle them into place. He had no idea what would be waiting for him back at Arlesburgh, but whether it was coaches or trucks, Duck was ready to dive in and take whatever task awaited him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Duck saw a signal change, followed by the growl of a horn a few seconds later. It wasn't one he recognised; during his first week of repairs, the new diesel, Baron, had been put through the same tests Duck had just done, and he wondered if it was him. Yet it was a crimson figure that appeared in the distance, and by the time the engine had reached the platform, Duck's joy had vanished.

Delphine did not seem to notice Duck at first, too busy watching her passengers clamber onto the platform and head into the coaches Peter Sam had simultaneously arrived with. A few moments passed before Delphine seemed to notice someone was watching her, and she looked up and met Duck's eyes; her faint smile dropped instantly, and she could only stare back at him for a few seconds before looking away fretfully.

Duck wished he could do the same, but the longer he stared at her, the harder it was to look away; he blinked, trying to shut her out, but then all he could see were two great big headlights coming towards him, shining furiously at him. He blinked again, and suddenly the world was dark, the only light coming from the moon high above him. Yet as Duck stared at it, he couldn't work out why it was spinning around, or was that him rolling over and over and over and over…

"Duck, are you listening to me?"

Duck gasped and blinked. He opened his eyes and looked around, taking in the workshop walls and the station in the distance, feeling the sun's glare on the top of his boiler. _It was all in your head; you're safe, you're repaired, there's nothing wrong._

"Sorry, I was… I was thinking about something else. What did you say?"

His driver didn't say anything for a moment, worry clear across his face as he gazed Duck up and down. "I said that the paperwork has been cleared, we're all set to head home."

"Really? Excellent, excellent, let's get going then!"

"Are you sure you're ready?" His driver asked with obvious scepticism.

Duck bristled at the question, and rearranged his features to be as indifferent and sincere as he could manage, even as the sound of Delphine's horn reverberated through his frame. "I'm fine. Let's go."

* * *

"Oi, watch where you're shoving us!"

The sound of crunching wood snapped Oliver out of his thoughts. He realised he had been staring off into the distance and quickly turned his attention to the ballast truck in front of him; Oliver had shunted the lone truck right against the buffers, and, based on the irritable looks on the workers that had gathered around it, he had clearly tried pushing it a bit further onwards.

"Sorry!" Oliver offered meekly, and he pulled the truck away from the scene, smiling apologetically until he had shunted it away on the neighbouring line.

The truck didn't look very accepting though, and Oliver couldn't blame it. For the last few days, he had barely been able to concentrate on anything. He had thought shunting would help clear his mind, but it just allowed his mind to wander further.

His driver could notice. "Maybe we should take a break before your next train, eh?" She called from the cab, and Oliver wearily tooted his whistle in agreement. "Don't worry mate, Duck will be back here soon."

"I hope so," Oliver muttered. He slinked slowly into an empty siding beside the Arlesdale Railway; asides from Rex and Mike, who were sleeping in the shade of their shed, their yard was empty, leaving Oliver alone with his thoughts.

The last few weeks without Duck had been tough. Oliver had never been without his friend for this long. A while ago, Duck had gone to work on Thomas' branch line for a few weeks, but at least then Oliver had known what condition his friend was in. All he had to work with this time was rumour and innuendo; some engines said that Duck had been damaged beyond repair, while others said he has fine and would be back to work in no time.

Only three engines had actually seen Duck after the crash, but Oliver hadn't seen Thomas, Barry or Wilson for long enough to ask them about it. It left him with his imagination, and Oliver knew that couldn't be trusted. He may have been on Sodor for most of his life now, but barely a day went by without the scrapyard coming back to him, and Oliver knew how damaged an engine could get in a crash of that magnitude. He knew Duck wouldn't be in that condition, but as the weeks dragged on, Oliver was beginning to doubt his reality.

A horn sounded suddenly nearby; Oliver jumped, startled, unable to tell if it was real or one of his memories. Something moved on the edge of his peripheral vision, and Oliver breathed a sigh of relief as saw Baron moving by up ahead, Alice and Mirabel rattling chirpily behind him.

"Have a good train, Oliver!" The diesel called, honking his horn again as he disappeared behind the sheds.

"See you," Oliver called weakly, whistling a minute too late. He had been trying to be welcoming to Baron over the last two weeks as he covered Duck's trains, but even though he seemed like a friendly sort of engine, Oliver was hardly in the mood for socialising and had barely spoken to him. Baron probably thought him strange, and after his recent behaviour, Oliver couldn't blame him.

The last few minutes before it was time to leave sped past in a dull blur. "Our passengers await us," Oliver's driver called, and it felt to Oliver that he had only just parked himself in the siding. He set out without enthusiasm, dreading the job ahead.

He'd probably be in a better mood if his work was more fulfilling, but over the last few weeks, it had only been making things worse. The number of passengers travelling on the Little Western had halved ever since the crash,. Usually Oliver's first train of the day was so busy there'd be people standing in Isabel and Dulcie's aisles, but now half their seats were empty, while extra buses had been brought in to service the nearby stops.

The station master was hoping the tourist season would see things return to normal, but Oliver was doubtful. The damage had been done, and he knew from experience that it was hard to recover from that. Even as he coupled up to his coaches, part of him wondered if it wouldn't be easier to leave one of them behind.

"Are you alright, Oliver?" Isabel asked as they headed towards the station.

"I'm fine, Isabel, just a bit tired," Oliver said neutrally, though he could already see there were barely a dozen people waiting for them at the station. He cast his eyes around as they stopped, hoping to spot any stragglers, but it was nearly time to go and the yard was empty.

"Do you think we should wait a few minutes?" Dulcie called from the back.

Oliver smiled at the thought; at least his coaches still had hope. "We can't keep the other passengers waiting," he said, well aware there'd only be a handful waiting down the line.

However, a red signal meant they had to wait anyway. Oliver wasn't sure why, but a deep roar of a whistle in the distance and a smear of yellow on the horizon told him why, and by the time Molly was pulling up alongside, Oliver had managed to muster a smile.

"Hello Oliver!" Molly chirped, wearing a grin as bright as her paint.

"Hi Molly," Oliver said with a short whistle. "You look far too happy to be pulling those trucks."

Molly laughed, casting her eyes back to the hoppers clanking behind her. "They aren't why I'm smiling. Haven't you heard the news?"

"What news?" Oliver asked with cautious optimism.

"Duck's coming back today!" Molly shrieked, barely containing herself. "The station master at Tidmouth told us he was on his way; if you hurry there, you might be able to meet him there!"

Oliver said nothing. He was too stunned to reply. He hadn't expected it to happen so suddenlyl he had hoped he'd have time to prepare himself. "Are… are you sure."

"Of course," Molly laughed. "I'll get out of your way so you can go – say hello to him for me!" She whistled again and started off, the signal changing to green behind her.

Oliver heard the guard's whistle sound, but it sounded so distant he barely registered it. His driver released his brakes and Oliver set off, the platform, the car park, the beach all sliding out of view. It took him a few moments to realise it was him that was moving, that he was heading towards Tidmouth, and finally Oliver began to smile, and with vigour he shuddered forwards and sped towards his friend.

* * *

Of course the signal by the tunnel was red. Duck should have seen this coming. In all his time at the Works waiting to go home, the fact he would have to pass the crash site had never entered his mind. Yet as soon as he left Crovan's Gate, he had been able to think of little else. Even as he sailed through stations he rarely visited anymore and passed forests and towns so different to his branch line, it had been the one thing on Duck's mind.

He had hoped he might be able to roll right by, look straight ahead and pretend it was just another patch of grass. But the world had conspired against him; the big red signal glared imposingly at him, as if daring Duck to question it.

Instead, he said nothing. Duck could see the tunnel out of the corner of his eye, but he turned and stared at the ocean in the distance, trying his best to pretend he was somewhere else, but on a railway like this, that was easier said than done.

"Oh my goodness; Duck, is that you?"

 _Here we go_. "Yes, it is," Duck said chirpily, looking around as Thomas pulled up on the other side of the platform. "How have you been?"

"Who cares about me, how are you?" Thomas looked positively stunned, his expression suggesting he had never expected to see Duck again; his eyes even wandered over Duck's frame as if looking for any signs of damage.

"I'm perfectly fine, thank you," Duck said tensely with a whoosh of steam, forcing Thomas to look back at him.

"You look it. The workers did a great job."

"Well, that is their job," Duck said with a bitter laugh.

"I know, I know," Thomas said, chuckling himself, "but… if I'm being honest, Duck, I didn't think you would be back so soon. You might not remember, but –"

"You were here shortly after my accident? Yes, I remember that." Duck looked back at the signal, urging the stubborn thing to turn green.

"Yes, well… it didn't look good, from my end, at least," Thomas said awkwardly. "There were bits of the coaches everywhere, you were upside down… I don't want to sound dramatic, but a few of us were wondering if you would ever –"

"I assure you Thomas, I am feeling perfectly fine!" Duck smiled as assertively as he could and stared straight ahead, waiting for the opportunity to leave. Thankfully, an echoing rumble and a faint shape pushing through the dark suggested his torment was nearly over.

He hoped to leave without any further comment, but Thomas seemed to have other thoughts. "I'm sorry, Duck, I didn't mean to sound rude, it's just… I mean, we all thought… this probably isn't coming out right, is it?"

"No, it isn't," Duck fired back stiffly.

Before anyone could be said, Murdoch roared out of the tunnel, a lengthy string of trucks following after. He whistled at the two of them but passed without even noticing Duck was there. The signal turned green, and while the trucks were separating the pair, Duck took off, whistling half-heartedly back at Thomas he plunged into the tunnel.

He forced his eyes to focus on the tracks ahead, but as he passed the spot where it had happened, Duck couldn't help but look back; it passed by in a blur, but he could see the signal had been replaced, the grass replanted, all the scars cleaned away as if nothing had ever happened. Of course, something had, but as his view was replaced with the shadowed brick of the tunnel, Duck smiled to himself and soldiered on unhindered.

* * *

For a second as he pulled into Tidmouth, Oliver's joy wavered. The station's emptiness was so clear the blaring white platforms were almost blinding in this unnatural state. There were barely three dozen passengers scattered amongst the platforms, making James and Norramby Hall look giant by comparison as they sat alone waiting for people that would never arrive.

It bothered him, but Oliver had to ignore that for now. He barely paid his passengers, departing or boarding, any attention, so focussed was he on the tracks ahead, waiting for any sign of green emerging from the tunnel.

"I guess you've heard the news then," James called from across the station.

Oliver grinned at the red engine. "Is it that obvious?"

"Well, I haven't seen you smile once over the last few weeks, so yes, it's obvious," James laughed.

"What's this?" Norramby Hall called.

"Duck's on his way back from the Works," James explained.

"Oh." Norramby Hall let the syllable hang there, his normally smug smile distorting into a foul frown. "That's the one who crashed, isn't it?"

"Yes," James replied simply.

"So he's the one to blame for the fact my coaches are as empty as Percy's smokebox?"

Norramby Hall laughed at his own joke, but the high, cruel noise echoed on its own against the station roof.

Oliver felt a flash of anger, but he bit his lips and kept his eyes focused on the tunnel, trying to pretend nothing had happened.

Unfortunately, James' temper was on a shorter fuse than his. "It's not his fault he crashed. A boulder slipped down the hill above the tunnel… if you believe the Fat Controller, that is."

"Oh goodness, do you still believe that diesel theory?" Norramby Hall scoffed. "Now really James, I know you aren't quite as bright as your paintwork, but really now, enough with the conspiracy theories."

"Are you calling me stupid?" James fumed.

"If the dome fits," Norramby Hall replied drolly. Before James could continue, the green engine carried on. "Let's be realistic here. A boulder may have fallen, but if Duck could see headlights at the end of the tunnel, surely he should have been able to see the track was blocked? I am no fan of our oil guzzling friends, but you can't go blaming BoCo or whoever just because you're too old to be able to brake in time."

James began to respond, but Oliver whistled loudly and cut him off. "He's here!"

A green speck had appeared in the distance, and in a second Norramby Hall's comments were forgotten. Oliver was unbelievably excited; he had been waiting for this day for weeks, and nothing was going to ruin his good mood.

A sudden silence gripped the station, which only amplified the sound of Duck's chuffing as he approached them. The green engine didn't seem to notice them, his eyes locked on his buffers for much of the journey, but when he was only a few metres away, Duck finally looked up and realised there were three engines staring expectantly at him.

"Hello…," he said uncertainly, slowing to a stop at the platform beside Oliver. "Are our welcoming home parties normally so dour?"

Oliver flushed with embarrassment, only now realising what a pitiful homecoming this was, but nothing could dull his enthusiasm. "Welcome home, Duck, I've missed you so much!"

Duck's turned to him and smiled. "I missed you too. How have things been while I was away?"

"Quiet, nothing exciting," Oliver said.

"You can say that again!" Norramby Hall grunted from the far end of the station.

Duck looked at him quizzically. "What does that mean?"

"You'll see," Norramby said as his guard's whistle echoed shrilly through the station. "Just try and keep your eyes on the tracks this time."

Duck's uncertain stare remained as he watched Norramby Hall slide loudly and slowly out of the station. Oliver hesitated, expecting more questions to follow, but when the steam had cleared, Duck simply looked away. "I don't meant to be rude, but I am a little tired, so I think I'm going to head to the shed now."

"That's fine, I'm actually ready to go as well!" Oliver said. "I can catch you up on everything that happened while you were gone."

"I thought nothing much had happened?"

It took Oliver a moment to understand what he had meant. "Oh right, yeah, well… some stuff happened, nothing major though," he laughed nervously.

Duck smiled back but said nothing else, and simply watched as Oliver was uncoupled from his coaches and rolled to the nearest points. It was a little unsettling, and Oliver tried his best to keep smiling as he rolled to the back of his train, but it was clear that he was not done waiting for the friend he had hoped for to come home.

* * *

Duck had not realised how much he had missed his branch line. When he'd gone to the works, the weather had still been grey and cold most of the time, but now that they were approaching summer, the sun was starting to break through the clouds and was bringing the warmth with it. As he and Oliver sailed along the coastline, he could not stop smiling as he stared out to sea, breathing in the long forgotten air and watching the waves crash against the sand. People were starting to return to the shores, not yet in the droves that would keep them busy all season long, but seeing people happy and frolicking in the waters was exactly what Duck needed to see.

At least there were some people out and about. Duck had barely paid attention to all the stations he'd passed through earlier, but now that he was with Oliver, he was beginning to realise just how empty the platforms were. He'd noticed it at Tidmouth, and now that he could see how few people were moving between Isobel and Dulice, Duck was starting to grow suspicious.

He wanted to ask Oliver about it, but his friend had been talking non-stop since they'd left Tidmouth. Duck was glad to see his friend again, having missed him over the last few weeks, and not having to talk about himself was a relief. Yet as they got nearer to Arlesburgh, the more suspicious Duck felt about Oliver's rambling.

 _Either he's trying to avoid asking about the accident, or he's avoiding something else entirely._ Norramby Hall's parting words were still bothering him, and Duck could tell that there was something Oliver was trying not to talk about.

"Would you look at that, we're already here!"

"Hmm?" Duck had become lost in his suspicions and had stopped paying attention to the view. He looked around and saw the beach and ocean were retreating as more houses and buildings appeared alongside the tracks. Up ahead, the station and sheds were coming in to view, and Duck felt a brief burst of joy to see everything again after so long.

Yet even from afar, one thing stood out as different. "The station looks a little empty," he murmured, staring innocently at Oliver.

"Oh yes, it's been that way for a while," Oliver replied quickly. "A bit of a lull before the summer traffic starts, I think."

"Funny, I haven't really noticed that in the past." Duck let that hang there for a minute, watching Oliver's face for his reaction. "Is something –"

Before he could finish, a chorus of whistles cut across the yard. Duck jumped and looked fretfully around, settling only slightly when he saw Bert, Rex and Jock gathered by their station, their tiny but broad grins shining across at him.

"Hello," he called, smiling back and hoping no one noticed how jumpy he was. He would have to go across and talk with them later, even if the thought filled him with dread: it would only mean yet more engines who wanted to hear his story, to pester him about how he was, how the recovery was going. He couldn't imagine anything worse.

Finally, they reached the station. Both Duck and Oliver came to a stop, and the familiar thud of carriage doors banging open made Duck smile. He watched the passengers as they passed on their way to the harbour or their homes, and he counted each and every one, a task made easy by how few of them walked by. His eyes turned to the little railway, where barely a dozen people hovered at the platform waiting for the next train to leave.

"Why are there so few passengers?" Duck said, looking back at Oliver. "I want the real reason, no excuses."

Oliver hesitated, his conflict clear as day, but Duck kept up his withering gaze and eventually his friend folded. "There has been a campaign ever since your – I mean, since the crash, discouraging people from using the railways. That politician is the one behind it, she is saying that we are dangerous and that the railway should be avoided until safety is improved."

"And how exactly does she want that to happen?" Duck seethed. "Cement all the boulders into the earth?"

"She says that using older engines is the cause of most of the problems. She says that diesel engines don't have accidents as often as steam engines do. You shouldn't take it personally duck," Oliver said quickly. "If it hadn't been you, she would have used the next accident to make her case."

"It was always going to be me though, wasn't it?" Duck muttered darkly.

Oliver's eyes narrowed worriedly. "What do you mean?"

Before Duck could reply, a horn cut through the air. He jerked backwards, for a second seeing nothing but two bright headlights speeding towards him. His eyes darted around frantically until they settled on a maroon engine sliding out from behind the sheds, two coaches rattling behind.

"Duck, is that you?" The diesel called. "I thought I recognised you – it's so nice to see you out of the Works!"

Duck eyed the diesel nervously, wondering why he knew his name. "Baron?"

"The one and only – don't quite recognise me all cleaned up, do you?"

"No, I didn't." Duck paused as his eyes moved towards the coaches. "Are those mine?"

Baron smiled and nodded, looking back at Alice and Mirabel. "I've been looking after them the last few weeks, making sure your passengers get where they need to go on time. We were just about to head to Tidmouth to get ready for the afternoon –"

"I'll take them," Duck interrupted.

Baron's smile sank. "Oh – are you sure? I really don't mind."

"No, I insist." Duck was already moving towards the nearest points, ignoring the concerned stares of the engines around him.

"Duck, are you sure you don't want to rest?" Oliver said hesitantly.

"No thank you, I've rested well enough already." Duck switched lines and reversed so he was in front of his train: a shunter was uncoupling Baron, who looked uneasy as he moved out of the way. Duck didn't care what the diesel thought, and buffered up to his train.

"Oh Duck, it's so great to see you again!" Alice cried, beaming brightly.

"It's great to be back," Duck said, smiling back at her, and the second he was coupled up he shot backwards, leaving Oliver, Baron and their judgement behind, his thoughts solely devoted to getting back to work.

* * *

For the next few days, Oliver found himself overwhelmed with work. An event at the castle kept him and Duck busy ferrying passengers to and fro, before a problem with Molly's brakes saw Oliver having to pick up her work with the ballast trains. It was the busiest he had been for months, and the sudden rush wore him down to the point that whenever he did cross another engine's path, he didn't have the energy to speak.

It was only when Molly returned from a short stay at the Works that Oliver felt the weight leave his buffers, and he returned to his regularly expected level of busyness. His tiredness lingered, and after an early morning trip to Tidmouth, he was pleased for a chance to doze in the sun and catch up on sleep until his next train was ready.

Yet Oliver had barely shut his eyes before he heard another engine arrive. "Hello Mr Oliver, having a little midday nap, are we?"

Oliver opened one eye and looked as stern as possible, but he couldn't pretend long when he saw Toad's innocent smile staring back at him. "Well, I was trying to before someone thought they'd interrupt!"

"Begging your pardon, Mr Oliver, I didn't mean to disturb you. Only it's been a while since I last saw you, and I was merely wondering how you've been."

"Busy," Oliver sighed. "Simply busy!"

"Oh, I know the feeling, don't we Mr Douglas?"

"Aye," Douglas wheezed as he rolled by, taking the empty trucks he and Toad had brought with him.

"It's simply becoming that time of year, isn't it?" Toad said with a weary smile.

"I hope it won't be like this all summer, I'm tired enough as it is!"

"Maybe you could ask Mr Duck to take some of the work off of you, once he's back on his wheels again?"

"Hmm, maybe." Oliver looked away, hoping Toad wouldn't pry further, but he knew there was no getting past his old brake van.

"Is something the matter Mr Oliver? I thought you'd be happy to have him back!"

Oliver hesitated, not sure how much he could say, especially with the gossiping trucks only a few metres away. He knew though that if he didn't say anything, it could be a while before he had a chance to talk with someone he trusted again – he only saw Donald, Douglas and Molly at night when Duck was in the sheds with them, and gossip would spread if he brought it up with the engines at Tidmouth.

"I am happy, don't get me wrong there, but the problem is that Duck doesn't seem to be. I thought he'd be glad to be out of the Works, but he's been in a bad mood since he got back. His first day here he snapped at Baron, and he only seems to have become more sullen and sulky since then. He isn't talking to anyone at the Sheds at night, and Alice and Mirabel told Isobel and Dulice that he's been very quiet on his trips as well."

"Hmmm." Toad pursed his lips and stared at the sky, as if the answer Oliver was looking for was somewhere up there. "You must remember, Mr Oliver, that your friend has been through a terribly traumatic event. You cannot expect him to come back and be entirely the same engine."

Oliver sighed. "I know, Toad, I know, but I just don't know how long this might go on for. If he won't talk to us about what's wrong, how is he going to get better?"

"I suppose you might be right," Toad said quietly. "Have you tried talking to him?"

"Yes! Well…"

"Mr Oliver!" Toad growled sternly.

"I did try at first, but he wasn't listening, so I just…" Oliver blushed with shame. "I should try again tonight, shouldn't I?"

"That does sound like a wise idea, Mr Oliver," Toad said with a smile. "Try and talk to him on your own before Molly and the twins get back."

"Before we get back from where?" Douglas clunked by, a new line of trucks following behind.

"Nothing, Mr Douglas, let's just get this trucks in order. And you, Mr Oliver, need to take your train if I'm not mistaken."

Oliver looked at the clock hanging outside the little engine's station. "You're right Toad, I'm running late!" He wheeshed at his crew, who were talking with some of the shunters. "Thank you Toad, I needed this."

"Don't thank me yet, Mr Oliver, it might not work." The brakevan chuckled sadly as he was pulled away by Douglas. Oliver watched them go, hoping that his old friend was wrong – if he couldn't get through to Duck, he wasn't sure what else he could do.

* * *

There were two clocks at Tidmouth Station, one on each side of the station. The green, analog clocks had been part of the station for as long as Duck had been on Sodor, yet he could never remember a time where they had irritated him as much as they were now.

He wasn't sure if it was his imagination or the devices were both defunct, but the minute hand barely seemed to have moved since he had arrived. Duck could have sworn he had been sitting at the platform for an hour, surrounded by bricks and nothingness, but the clocks suggested only a few minutes had passed since he had arrived.

Duck watched the one closest to him, focusing on the second hand as it made another painfully slow rotation, daring it to move faster. He couldn't bare to be in the station any longer. The emptiness of the platforms had been slowly getting on nerves for the past few days, and he was close to breaking point.

 _This never would have happened on the Great Western Railway,_ he thought with disdain. Duck had no issues with an empty station when things were supposed to quiet, but to have so few people milling about at what should be one of the busiest times of the day was simply unnatural. Tidmouth was not as grand or beautiful as Paddington had been, but the station deserved more than to be treated with such contempt by the locals.

 _What are they afraid of?_ Duck thought, bitterly eyeing a couple milling about near the flower stand, ignoring the coaches spread out next to them. _Do they think every train is going to flip over now? Do these people not know that that was a one time thing? Do they think that what happened to me is suddenly the norm? I have been on this railway for most of my life and have never had an accident like that. Maybe pay attention to what's changed rather than blaming everything on us._

Somewhere behind him, a deep whistle signalled an engine's approach. It was like an electric jolt, snapping Duck out of his thoughts. He blinked, trying to rid himself of the blinding headlights burnt into his vision, and cautiously eyed Emily and Rosie, hoping they hadn't noticed how frantic his breathing had become.

"Empty again, I see." Gordon's sonorous voice echoed more pointedly than normal as he slid lazily into his normal platform, rolling his eyes at the world. "I know we shouldn't admit defeat to Mrs MacMillan, but if the passengers aren't going to bother showing up, I'd happily stay in my shed and catch up on some sleep."

"Getting tired in your old age?" Emily said with half-hearted cheek.

"Not in the slightest, my dear Emily, but sleeping is preferable to wasting my time," Gordon replied drolly. "Look around you – when has Tidmouth ever been this empty at this time of day? If something doesn't change soon, we're going to lose this little battle."

Rosie gasped. "Don't say that!" She muttered, though in the empty station her whimper carried.

"Ignore him, he's just being grumpy," Emily whispered.

"He does have a point," Duck called out, and the three engines looked around almost in shock, as though they hadn't noticed him sitting on his own. "This problem with the passenger numbers is not good for any of us. All the extensions that have been built over the last decade were all to keep up with passenger demand, but if that demand disappears, what are we supposed to do?"

"Finally, someone who sees sense," Gordon boomed.

Emily glowered at the blue engine before turning back to Duck. "I am sure it is just a blip, I don't think this will be permanent. The passengers will return to us when they realise how slow and unreliable the buses are, or when they start running out of car parks when they go to work. A bus can't take them from Arlesburgh all the way to London, can it?"

"No, but it can take them to the airport," Gordon interjected.

"I think this is more than just a 'blip'," Duck said. "When I worked on the Great Western Railway, even when there was talks of closing stations and branch lines and all that, things were never as dire as they have been lately."

Before Duck could continue, Gordon sighed loudly and obviously, drawing all the attention back to him. "Just when I thought you were going to start talking sense. Can you really not go one discussion without bringing up your bloody tinpot railway!"

Duck pursed his lips. "I bring it up when it's relevant, Gordon. I mean, if I wanted to compare our terminus station with Paddington, I could find a lot to –"

"That's nice, Duck, but any comparisons you could make are quite outdated now, aren't they

Have you been to Paddington any time in the last fifty years?" Gordon paused for a few moments, eyebrows raised, waiting for Duck to say something. "I thought not."

"Gordon!" Emily said, horrified.

"It's fine," Duck muttered, struggling not to smile. Normally Gordon's mockery would get on his nerves, but after weeks of everyone tiptoeing around him, Duck was relieved that there were still some engines rude enough to make such a scene.

Before he could get his revenge on the blue engine, a sharp horn filled the air. Duck froze where he was, a cold chill running through his boiler. The tracks beside him vibrated, and the deep, oily growl of an engine began to fill the air behind him. Duck stared straight ahead, trying to shut out the sound of screeching brakes and wailing coaches that were echoing through his mind, but within seconds it was all he could hear, and if he shut his eyes, the world started spinning, spinning so fast it felt like it was never going to stop.

"Hello everyone!"

Duck opened his eyes and stared at the engine suddenly sitting next to him. For a few moments, Delphine did not seem to realise it was him, instead smiling sweetly out at the other engines as they whistled back in greet. When she finally turned her gaze to him, her smile vanished instantly, and the frown that took its place deepened as she saw the dark look in his eyes.

"Hello Duck, how are you feeling?" She asked in a hushed, nervous voice. "I haven't seen you since you came back…" She added, visibly regretting it as soon as she said it.

Duck kept his face indifferent, smiling only slightly at her. "I'm doing well, thank you. Might be doing better if I was a little busier, but there doesn't seem to be much demand as there used to be."

He laughed, and for a moment Delphine smiled as well, until she saw his eyes drift across the empty platforms. "Oh, yes, things have felt a little… empty, these past few weeks."

"It's such a shame, really," Duck said, measuring his words carefully. "I can't believe one incident would have changed things so drastically."

"I know." Delphine was looking more uncomfortable by the second, her eyes flickering towards the others as if pleading for an escape. "I am sure they will return to normal soon enough. They can't stay away forever, not when they realise there aren't any other boulders to fall onto the tracks."

"Yes, it would be tricky that. Especially since that boulder must have needed help to roll so suddenly down the hill. I mean, there was a diesel on the tracks a minute before I crashed, and it didn't bother to warn anyone about what had happened."

Delphine's eyes widened as far as they could, suddenly consumed by terror. "Duck, are you implying something?"

If time had been moving slowly before, it was practically frozen now. _Keep it together, Montague, keep it together_ , Duck thought to himself, yet that was getting harder by the moment. _I've kept it together my whole life,_ a second voice said from the depths of his mind. _And where has that gotten me? The Great Western Way saw me on my side in a ditch with my front bent out of shape. Maybe it's time to try something else._

"Where were you that night?" Duck growled before he was even aware he was saying it.

"What night?" Delphine asked, clearly nervous. "Are you talking about your accident?"

" _Yes_ , the accident you caused!"

"What? I didn't have anything to do with that!"

"Well, where were you then?"

"I was in my shed," Delphine fired back angrily.

Duck let that hang in the air, glowering back at her. Delphine remained stoic at first, but as the silence stretched out her nerves started to creep in and her face started to quiver. " _Liar_!" He snarled.

"What on earth is going on?"

Immediately, Duck fell silent. Even if the platforms had been crowded, the Fat Controller would have been easy to spot, his top hat and red face easily marking him out. Duck had no idea how long he had been standing there or how much he had heard, but for the first time since Delphine had arrived, he remembered that the two were not alone no matter what the platforms suggested. Rosie had left but Emily and Gordon remained, both looking as scandalised as the other, and Duck knew the whole railway would hear about this before the sun had fallen.

Duck said nothing though. He tore his eyes away from Delphine and stared at the clock again, waiting for his time to leave. Behind him, he could hear his crew apologising to the Fat Controller, but he made no effort to explain himself. When Delphine left a minute later, quietly but quickly heading towards the Main Line, Duck paid her no attention. He had had his say now; he was not interested in what others made of it. As long as he got the truth, Duck thought when finally heard the guard's whistle shriek, he would say and do whatever he had to to find it.

* * *

The sheds were cold that night, colder than they had ever felt before. Even with the last of his fire warming his tubes, Oliver shivered as he stared at the berth next to him. The shed doors were open, letting the night air pool in and giving him a glimpse at the cloudless, starry canvas above. Oliver wished the doors could stay like that forever, but he knew he only had a few minutes left of peace and quiet before everything changed.

 _It was only last week you were sick of seeing that space empty,_ Oliver thought as the distant screech of a whistle echoed through the empty yard outside. He sighed, suddenly mournful for the loneliness and longing he'd once felt; at least then, he only had to imagine losing his friend. Anything was better than watching someone slip away up close.

A few minutes later, Duck backed into his space. He was staring straight ahead out into the world he'd just left, and Oliver copied him, fixing his eyes on the plain wooden doors. He occasionally glanced to his left and watched as Duck's crew dampened down his fire and emptied the ash bar. The process was agonising, and to Oliver felt as if it was being purposefully drawn out to maximise tension. He and Duck did say anything to each other throughout the whole process, and his crew offered no break to the silence, their sullen, quiet movements indicative of their own annoyance with the engine in their care.

Finally, the crew left, departing without a single word. Oliver caught the scowl on the driver's face as he turned to shut the doors, but that disappeared along with the last vestiges of light. Asides from cracks in the door frame and a few missing tiles in the roof, the shed was cast in total darkness. It was unsettling, but Oliver couldn't back out now. If what he heard about Tidmouth Station was true, this was more imperative than ever.

"Duck –"

"Oliver, please don't." Duck's sigh was heavy and drawn out, and he looked at Oliver with pure exasperation. "I don't want to talk about this right now. I want to get some sleep and wake up tomorrow and move on. Is that really so much to ask?"

Oliver hesitated. He knew his friend was in pain; it permeated every line of his face, it was imbued into every word he said. Oliver wanted to make Duck happy, but right now, there was something more important than friendship.

"I'm sorry Duck, but I can't just sit back and pretend everything's fine. Something's clearly wrong, and you can't keep it yourself, not if that means more scenes like what happened today."

"Oh, I'm causing 'scenes' now, am I?" Duck snapped back. "Well, excuse me for having an accident, excuse me that I haven't come back and pretended like everything is normal!"

"I'm not asking you to pretend like everything is normal, I just want to know what's wrong and how I can help!"

Duck's scowl was clear even in the dark. "I don't want to talk about this," he mumbled.

"Of course you don't, but we're going to," Oliver said firmly. He paused, waiting to see if Duck would say anything, but his words were met with silence. "You've been grumpy ever since you got back. Are you grumpy because of the accident, are you grumpy because of the passengers, is it something else?"

Duck remained silent for as long as he could, but the longer he tried to ignore Oliver, the heavier the awkwardness in the air became. "Both, I suppose," he said finally. "I wanted to move on from what had happened, but it's hard to do that when every time you go out to do your job, there's a reminder at every platform that this accident isn't going to go away."

"Is that why your angry at the diesels as well?"

"No, I'm angry at the diesels because they caused this accident." Duck's eyes narrowed as he gazed coldly at Oliver. "You do believe me, don't you?"

Oliver hesitated, and that second's pause was enough to make Duck sigh angrily. "I don't not believe you," Oliver said quickly. "But the inspectors made their report, they said it was a boulder. No one reports seeing any diesel go past that night."

"I saw headlights, one of them was there," Duck interrupted. "Only a few stations are ever manned at that time of night, and they aren't going to pop their heads out the window and check on every engine that goes past, are they? I saw a diesel at the other end of the tunnel, and if they didn't cause it, they have to know something."

Ever since he had spoken with Toad that afternoon, Oliver had worried about how this conversation would go. It was only now that he realised why. For years, Oliver had heard about the strong minded, stubborn, proud engine that Duck had been when he had first arrived on Sodor. Duck still had that streak in him, but Oliver had never known his friend to be as severe as he was painted. Oliver had long wondered what had changed Duck, and often he had come back to the same conclusion generated by the same stories still whispered by those engines who had been here longer than anyone else. Oliver had always wanted to ask Duck about it, but had never had the courage. If he had realised earlier where this conversation would go, he might have hesitated before going down this rabbit hole.

"Why do you hate diesels so much?"

"I don't hate diesels. I have nothing against BoCo and Bear. Outside of them, though, I suppose I have not had the best experiences."

"From what I've been told, you didn't trust Diesel before he had done anything wrong," Oliver said.

Duck tutted. "Oh, is that how Henry and Gordon tell the story, is it? Well, I'm sorry I wasn't so easily swayed by the shiny new toy; there was something suspicious about Diesel right from the offset, and I make no apology for thinking that."

"Suspicion comes from somewhere, though," Oliver said. "You left the Mainland before the dieselisation happened, why did you distrust him?"

"And why do you think I left?"

For the first time that night, and possibly for the first time ever, Oliver heard Duck's voice crack. He may not be as stubborn as the stories suggested, but for as long as Oliver had known him, Duck had always been calm and collected, never wavering from the same tracks he always travelled down. He had never let it seem like anything go to him before, and the fact the façade was finally broken left Oliver with a cold feeling in his firebox.

"I was made to work on the Great Western Railway. That's what I was designed for, that was what I was built to do. And I enjoyed it. I loved working there, I was always convinced it was the greatest railway in the whole world – that's what my crew always told me, and if you ever saw Paddington in its post-war glory, you'd have believed it to.

"And then, suddenly, I became surplus to requirements. I had to go and work somewhere else because they couldn't keep me. Diesels were coming, my driver told me, I was lucky to find a home before there wasn't a place for me to go. I didn't feel lucky, though," Duck said coldly to the door, refusing to meet Oliver's eye. "I belonged on the Great Western, I meant something there, there was an order that I understood: shunt trucks, shunt coaches, keep the railway working. I was a cog in the system and I knew my place.

"Coming to Sodor… None of those big engines had worked on a main railway for years, decades. They had forgotten what it was like to be part of a wider team, to not have everything revolve around you and fit your needs. I felt like I was intruding in some close knit family meal, crashing through the walls just like Thomas did. I had to stand my ground and reaffirm my place, but that only put distance between us. It only made the fact I'd been rejected hurt even more."

"I know how it feels. I was nearly scrapped, remember." Oliver didn't mean to sound as angry as he did, but he could not simply sit here and listen to Duck talk with such ignorance.

"Did you think I'd forgotten?" Duck growled. "Don't throw that at me! Of course I understand that what happened to you was worse, and I know I am lucky to have been given an out before my class was sent to the smelters in droves, but just because you've had a worse experience doesn't mean you win or anything. We are allowed to have had suffered in different ways."

"What does it have to do with diesels though?"

"Because first they cast me out of one home, and then they tried to cast me out of the next," Duck shouted. He paused, seeming to notice his tone, and started again much quieter. "It took me a long time to earn the same respect here I had once had. To be trusted, to get noticed. No one believed me when Diesel spread those lies about me. They were so quick to trust him and so willing to see the back of me. You can't tell me you know what that's like, you were welcomed here and accepted immediately. I had to get banished from the yard, lose my purpose and place yet again, and then get sent careering through a literal wall before anyone was willing to look at me and consider friendship.

"And I see it happening now. You've heard what Margaret MacMillan has been saying, and my accident has confirmed it in the minds of all those willing to be sweet talked into someone else's reality. If the passenger numbers don't go back to normal when summer hits, the questions that are already getting asked are going to get louder, it will be impossible for anyone to justify the current status quo. Investors, shareholders, they'll demand answers, and suddenly it'll be 1963 all over again."

The closest Oliver had ever come to seeing this side of Duck before was when Bulgy had threatened to take their passengers. For a short time, Oliver had listened to his friend's anger, had seen how affected he was by the threat to their young branch line. But that was nothing compared to this; Duck was incensed, bitter, enraged, something dark and ugly growing inside of him. _Is this because of the accident, or has this always been here?_

"Was I a bit mean to Baron and Delphine? Probably. But I'm not going to apologise. I am not sure about Baron, but Delphine is keeping something from us. If I'm wrong, I'll apologise then, but not before. No one apologised to me for being wrong about Diesel, so it'll be rich of them to expect something different from me."

Oliver stared at Duck, trying to meet his eye, but his friend ignored him, his steely gaze boring a hole through the door, firing judgement out into the world. "It's not very 'Great Western', though, is it?"

Finally, Duck turned to him. For a moment there was just anger, but then a smirk appeared, and for a short time cold laughter filled the air, somehow adding to the unbearable tension. "No. But we aren't on the Great Western Railway anymore, are we?"

Oliver asked no more questions. The silence was only broken by Donald and Douglas arriving a short time later, but neither tank engine said anything more than a basic greeting to the twins. Their eyes did not meet again that night, and Oliver went to sleep wondering if they ever would again; he had only wanted his friend back, but if all that had been said was to be believed, he had to wonder if he had ever really known Duck at all.

* * *

"He was so angry, he didn't believe me in the slightest. I only was able to keep myself together because the Fat Controller showed up, I have no idea how I am going to handle it if he asks me again."

"You are going to tell him exactly what we discussed – you were in the sheds the whole night. I have already vouched for you, and I will vouch for you again. No one ever needs to know anything else."

"But what if –"

"No ifs or buts," Edward whispered forcefully. "If they find out what happened, Delphine, there is no future for you on this Island. Gordon, James, Duck, the twins – they will believe what they choose to believe, if you give them anything that confirms it, you will start something you can't control."

Cole's whistle sounded around the corner, meaning they had to leave it there. When the tank engine arrived, Edward easily slipped back into his usual polite, calm self as he quizzed Cole about his day. Delphine did nothing but smile; inside, she was shaking with fear, and it took all her willpower not to let Cole see anything.

 _No one believes Duck, it's only him against you right now. Don't say anything that might change that. All you have to do is stick to the story, and no one ever needs to know what you did._


End file.
